


TMM (F&I)

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 80,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28243914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Collections: Misc Audio Descriptions (iPhone)





	1. Chapter 1

o-o-o  
Some say the world will end in fire,  
Some say in ice.  
From what I’ve tasted of desire  
I hold with those who favor fire.  
But if it had to perish twice,  
I think I know enough of hate  
To say that for destruction ice  
Is also great  
And would suffice.  
-Robert Frost  
o-o-o

Hermione Granger sat at the worn kitchen table in the Burrow, flanked by her two best friends, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. The new Minister for Magic sat across from them, his hands folded neatly in front of him, slouched comfortably into his seat. “It is sufficed to say that the Ministry is impressed with how the three of you handled the events that were presented to you in the last year. You will find enclosed in these three envelopes letters offering you three positions in the highly sought after Auror’s program.”

He slid three envelopes across from the table at them. In the two and a half months since the War had ended, they had given interviews to multiple reporters, been handed book deals, and had many job offers extended their way. Ron basked in the attention, finally being recognized for the first time in his life. Harry hated the limelight but felt that people deserved to know the truth after so many years shrouded in darkness and deceit. Hermione despised every interaction they’d had with the public since the War.

She wanted nothing more than to take Headmistress McGonagall up on her offer to return and complete her final year. She was nearing nineteen now and felt as though she needed to finish her education sooner rather than later. Let her life follow the course it should have, had it not been for the War. She opened her envelope as the two men on either side of her did. A quick scan of the arse-kissing letter contained within confirmed her thoughts. The Ministry had rejected Harry for the better part of his life, refusing to believe Voldemort had returned and then laying down and allowing itself to fall straight into his hands during the War. And now they valued his opinion and hard work? She scoffed. “Glad to see the Ministry has finally come around,” she replied, crumpling her letter.

“‘Mione,” Ron admonished.

“Hermione. Kingsley is the Minister now. Things are changing for the better. It’s what we fought for,” Harry reminded her.

Shacklebolt nodded. “We’re stronger than ever, Miss Granger. We would love it if the three of you joined our ranks.”

“And what? Skip our education? Ignore the N.E.W.T.s in favor of some fleeting chance we could become Aurors?”

“It is more than a fleeting chance. You have already defeated the evilest of all wizards. You three are, in some ways, more knowledgeable than many of the Aurors currently employed,” Kingsley argued politely.

Harry snorted at that. “Clearly,” he allowed in a rare moment of arrogance.

Ron was reading over his letter, a broad smile across his face. “No more three-foot essays on the alignment of the stars? No more transfiguring teacups into kittens? No more studying in the library with Hermione for days on end?” a glazed look reached his eyes.

Shacklebolt grinned back. “It is totally hands on. Theory is taught and then put into practice, like an official ‘Dumbledore’s Army.’”

Ron grinned wickedly and looked at Harry who seemed to be in agreement. He then caught sight of the look on Hermione’s face and his smile fell slightly. “Come on, ‘Mione. Think about it. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. We’re being offered a job we’re overly qualified for,” he winked at Kingsley who laughed, “and we don’t have to sit behind the desk in the Potions classroom while Neville blows his latest disaster up.”

She frowned more deeply. “How long?”

“Two years,” the Minister replied.

Even Ron looked disgruntled at that. “Two years?”

Kingsley sat back again. “Yes. Two years. You three are good, but there is still much about the Dark Arts you aren’t aware of. It’s an apprenticeship of sorts. But there is one thing…”

“Out with it then,” Harry insisted.

“No outside contact with anyone for the duration of training. It is dangerous to be exposed to outside influences at such a crucial period of regrowth.”

The three gaped at him. “So, you want to break us down and rebuild us the way you want us,” Harry said, also sitting back and taking in all of the information. “How very Third Reich.”

Harry’s reference went over Ron and the Minister’s heads and Hermione bristled next to him. “Precisely.”

“I understand if you need time to think about it, but do not wait too long. Training begins September 1st,” and with that Kingsley swallowed the rest of his tea and stood.

Mrs. Weasley came in then and invited him to stay for dinner. She led him into the living room where Mr. Weasley and Charlie were talking. The three parts of the Golden Trio looked at each other.

“I’m going.”

“I’m not going.”

It was Harry and Hermione who had spoken at the same time. Of course Harry wanted to go—chasing and overthrowing Dark Wizards had consumed his life for almost eight years—it was all he knew. Ron seemed to be torn between his two best friends. He looked between them and gave Hermione a pained look. “Hermione, we may never get another opportunity like this again.”

“I’ve made my decision, Ronald. I want to return to Hogwarts. I enjoy learning, if you hadn’t noticed. And I think I’ve had quite enough Dark Wizard hunting to last me a lifetime. I want to turn my attention to other avenues now,” she said, huffing impatiently.

“You can’t possibly be talking about spew!” he exclaimed.

“It’s S.P.E.W., Ronald, and that is only one aspect of my future plans.”

“What about us?” he whispered and Harry took this as his cue to go into the living room and announce his acceptance.

“What about us?” she asked, avoiding his gaze.

“I thought we were heading toward…something…” he said, grabbing her hand under the table.

“I did, too. But that doesn’t change my mind. I have no desire to be an Auror. Harry didn’t even confer with Ginny before he made his choice, so why are we having this discussion?” she asked.

“Harry knows that Ginny would hex his bollocks off if he turned it down-”

“Is that what it’s going to take for you to accept Shacklebolt’s offer?” she asked him playfully, trying her best to hide her sadness.

Ron looked at her then, conflict clear in his bright blue eyes. She knew he wouldn’t want to leave her, but he needed to take this offer. Another offer this sweet probably wouldn’t present itself in his lifetime, he wasn’t the academic type anyway. But that didn’t mean she was going to chase after his dreams as her own just to try to salvage the relationship they might have.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek, putting her most genuine smile on. “Ron. This is your dream and an opportunity of a lifetime. You’d be a fool not to take it.”

“What about us?” he asked again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Get through Auror training and we can revisit us. I will not allow you to throw this opportunity away.”

Ron looked pained, though Hermione could tell he was fighting a smile of excitement. “Well, we’ve got six weeks left of this summer to spend together.”

She gave him a genuinely happy smile and grabbed his hand. “Do you want to break the news to your mum before or after you accept the offer?” she asked with a laugh.

He groaned. “After. That way she can’t try to talk me out of it.”

“Oh, she’ll still try to talk you out of it,” Hermione reminded him as they entered the living room.

Shacklebolt smiled up at the pair and held out his hands expectantly. “Well? Ron? Hermione? What do you say?”

Ron grinned and held his hand out and gave Kingsley a firm handshake. “Can’t wait.”

Kingsley looked expectantly at Hermione and she bit her lip and averted her eyes as she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m a little sick of my life being in danger constantly. I’d rather finish my education at Hogwarts and focus my attention elsewhere.”

Shacklebolt’s smile didn’t waver. “The Ministry’s loss, then. We could have used your brilliance on the force. But, I can’t say I blame you.”  
Ginny congratulated Harry, truly happy for him even though she knew she’d be sacrificing her own happiness. Hermione envied her in that moment, mourning her own loss silently as she put on her best brave face. Kingsley turned to Harry. “Mr. Potter, there is another reason why I’m here. We need to discuss your testimony at the Malfoy’s trial tomorrow.”

o-o-o

The Wizengamot had stepped out to deliberate and come up with a punishment for Draco Malfoy. He stood in the hallway outside of the courtroom, pacing nervously. They’d been out for nearly two hours. His father had been sentenced to receive the kiss and indefinite incarceration in Azkaban. His mother had been sentenced to five years of house arrest for her part, only brought down from indefinite incarceration because Harry Potter had testified on her behalf about her part in saving his life during the Battle of Hogwarts.

Potter had testified on his behalf as well, much to his surprise. They’d never been amicable in school, were even rivals, so for Potter to assist him in any way was humbling. He had testified about how Draco had refused to kill Dumbledore and about his reluctance to identify the trio at Easter at Malfoy Manor.

He was trying not to think about his father’s fate as he paced the corridor. That could very well be his own soon. Granted, he’d never actually willingly killed anyone, but they knew he’d been coerced into participating in torture during the revels. Taking the Mark was the worst decision he’d ever made in his life, even if he did believe at the time that it was the right decision. He wished he could take a time-turner and go back to his sixteenth birthday and run away. He’d go away with the Order and fight for what he knew in his heart to be right, regardless of what his parents wanted.

But what was done was done. He had to take his consequences now and it was honestly scaring him shitless. He couldn’t bear the thought that he would be thrown in a cold cell for the rest of his life, his soul sucked out upon arrival. He was trying beyond all hope to calm his breathing and steady his shaking hands as the door to the courtroom opened and a stout witch poked her head out. “We’re ready for sentencing, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco tried to swallow but his throat was dreadfully dry. He wiped his sweaty palms against the smooth fabric of his black suit and buttoned the top button of his jacket. Squaring his shoulders, he tried to muster some of the aristocratic sophistication that was expected of him in times of stress. He took his seat in the center of the room once more and felt the shackles close around his wrists and ankles. His heart was racing so harshly, the sound of his blood rushing was filling his ears.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, it is the opinion of the Wizengamot that you are in fact guilty of all charges brought against you-”

He thought he was going to pass out.

“However, considering three of the charges took place before you were seventeen, the fact that Mr. Potter was willing to speak on your behalf, and your willingly supplied memories for us to view in the pensieve, we have decided to go a different route with your punishment.”

Draco sat forward in his chair, trying desperately to quiet the buzzing of his blood rushing behind his ears so he could hear.

“It is the decision of this court that you be placed on probation for five consecutive years. As part of that probation, you are to complete your seventh year at Hogwarts, following all suggestions and requirements that Minerva McGonagall sets forth with regards to your return. You will also spend the academic year performing community service in the form of coaching the first years in broomstick handling and intricacies. That is all. Bring in the next prisoner.”

Draco could hardly believe it. He was free to walk out for the first time in over two months. His entire family had been separated and placed into holding cells for so long, he was beginning to forget the feeling of the warm sun against his back. He felt the shackles retreat and rose onto unsteady legs slowly, dumbfounded.

When he went into the hall he nearly ran head first into the Headmistress herself. “Oh, Mr. Malfoy. I was hoping I’d see you today. I’ve got to testify against the Carrows in a while, but I came as soon as Kingsley told me about the conditions of your probation.”

“Professor, I-I just want to thank you for this opportunity. I’m not the best at apologizing or thanking people…” he was mumbling.

McGonagall nodded curtly. “Yes, and you will spend the next year making amends to myself and everyone else in that school. Without your parents’ influence, I trust you’ll make the correct judgments.”

“Yes, Professor, er-Headmistress.”

“As it is, you know that one of your tasks will be to take Madam Hooch’s place as the Quidditch referee and training the younger students. You will also act as Head Boy, opposite Hermione Granger. You both have the highest scoring academic records out of any seventh-years and we need the image of two opposite Houses getting along. You will also attend the mandatory therapy sessions, held on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the Great Hall, as well as the castle-restoration efforts on Mondays and Wednesdays every week until school begins.”

Draco tried to take it all in. It was a lot to be required of him and he knew that complying to the tee was going to be imperative to his future. He knew better than to argue with McGonagall and simply nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”  
She lifted her chin and one corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re being more respectful already.”

He scoffed, but grinned. “It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

She nodded again. “See you Monday, Mr. Malfoy.”

o-o-o

Hermione didn’t know what to expect when she stepped into the Great Hall on Monday morning. She had told Headmistress McGonagall of her desire to return and McGonagall had laid down stipulations, as she claimed she’d done with every returning former students. Everyone had to assist in restoring the castle twice a week and had to participate in group therapy sessions two more days a week. She had also said she would be assigning each of them a Professor to shadow as a student teacher. They were all adults and she felt it was important that they earn their way now. Hermione could appreciate this.

The long tables were moved against the walls and one large circular table sat in the middle of the hall. Around it sat the returning group of former students—Seamus Finnegan, Luna Lovegood, Theodore Nott, Neville Longbottom, Blaise Zabini, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Draco Malfoy. She was the last to arrive and they all looked at her expectantly. No one was really speaking, all sobered by being in the Great Hall once more. The last time they were in there, the bodies of their friends lined the walls.

“Well, aren’t we a merry bunch of arseholes,” Seamus commented, earning a laugh from a few of the guys.

“This is the most mismatched group of students that could possibly have returned for seventh year,” Theo conceded.

“Eighth year,” Luna commented, looking at everyone in turn. “Some of us were here last year,” she looked at Neville, “and some of us were educated in far more than the Professors in this school could teach us.” She looked pointedly at Hermione then.

There was a plate of cookies in the middle of the table and each of them had a goblet of pumpkin juice. Seamus lifted his glass in a toast. “Here, here. A toast to Hogwarts’ first group of eighth-years—the biggest bunch of ne’er-do-wells and outsiders to ever come together!”

Theo raised his glass and the others followed suit, save for Malfoy. He remained with his arms crossed and Theo nudged him with his elbow. Malfoy rolled his eyes and reluctantly raised his glass. He was going to have to play nice if he was to meet the conditions of his probation.

McGonagall came striding in then and cleared her throat. “I trust there’s no alcohol in those drinks.”

“I didn’t know that was an option,” Seamus said cheekily and Theo laughed.

Hermione could see that they were the Gryffindor and Slytherin side of the same coin. She inwardly groaned. They were going to be trouble together.

McGonagall rolled her eyes. “Right, well let’s get you your assignments and then I will take you to where you’ll be staying.”

“We won’t be staying in our House dorms?” Justin asked, looking suddenly disturbed at the idea that he might have to stay in a dorm with Slytherin boys.

“No, Mr. Finch-Fletchley. Those dorms are for current students. We’ve had to make…other accommodations.”

Even Neville gulped. McGonagall began pairing everyone up and Hermione internally groaned once more when Malfoy sauntered over to where she stood. Of course she would have to work with him, the Fates wouldn’t have it any other way. She tugged on the sleeve of her jumper and the movement did not escape Malfoy’s gaze. He immediately scowled and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy, you’ll be heading up the restoration of the library. This may be an assignment that extends well beyond the next six weeks as it suffered considerable damage. Miss Granger, you will shadow Professor Binns in History of Magic. Mr. Malfoy, you will shadow Professor Slughorn and Madam Pomfrey both. Poppy needs assistance with replenishing her healing potions.”

She doled out the assignments to the other six, but Hermione wasn’t listening. She was staring into the corner of the Great Hall, picturing where Fred Weasley’s body had once lain, his family grouped around him shaken but thankful for those still living. She had zoned out so much that she evidently didn’t notice when McGonagall led them out of the Great Hall and towards their new dorms. “Are you coming, Granger?” Malfoy asked, waving his hand in front of her face.

She snapped out of her thoughts with a shake of her head. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming.”

“By all means, then. Move your arse. Neither of us know where we’re staying,” he said, irritation coloring his tone.

“No need to be rude, Malfoy. Some of us lost loved ones in this room,” she said to him coldly, shoving past him to follow the others out.

He winced at her words and tone but sighed and followed. This was not going to be a pleasant year, Hermione decided then and there. Without Harry and Ron to act as her buffer, Malfoy’s wrath was going to be directed solely at her and she hardly had the energy to deal with that any longer.

They followed the Headmistress through the castle and up to the seventh floor. There was a tapestry of Merlin himself hanging on the wall when she stopped. “Persnickety.” The tapestry raised itself on one side and the door popped open behind. “Well, come on then.”

They all climbed through the door and gathered in their new Common Room. It was a cozy room with a large marble fireplace. There were black leather couches and heavy dark wooden tables. Desks lined the walls with high-back comfy-looking chairs. The entire room was decorated in a rich purple instead of the usual four House colors. “This is your new House color. We need to create unity in this group. You all are adults now and the old schoolhouse rivalries need to end,” she looked pointedly at the Slytherins and Theo put a hand over his heart and mouthed ‘Moi?’

“It is important for the children to see you all as role models for more than just being War heroes. We are going to call you the Wulfric House in honor of Dumbledore and your mascot will be the phoenix. We have informed Madame Malkin’s so that she can sew new robes for you.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. How very Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Hermione glared at him. “There are six rooms and two bathrooms for you all to explore. Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger, if you would follow me,” McGonagall said, turning and waving them along.

She pushed through a door with a large phoenix burned into the wood. They followed her down a brief hall and into another, smaller Common Room. “I trust you can both live alongside one another without there being any problems?” she asked, looking solely at the blond wizard before her.

He shrugged and gave her a defensive look. “I’m just trying not to go to Azkaban.”

The headmistress seemed pleased with his answer and she gestured toward two wooden doors and a conjoining bathroom between. Malfoy looked into the one with ‘Head Boy’ burned into the door. He wrinkled his nose. Even the bedding was purple. No matter, as soon as he was settled in, he would magic them to another color.

There was a commotion in the main Common Room and they followed the sound of excited voices. “It overlooks the Quidditch pitch!” Blaise said excitedly.

Draco rushed over to the window to join the other men as Hermione looked at Luna and rolled her eyes. Men. The eighth-years had been banned from joining the Quidditch teams as part of the unifying of their new House. They were too old and had an unfair advantage over the younger students. But apparently being able to watch Quidditch practice from their window as they studied pacified them all.

“If you all would, head down to your respective assigned restoration areas and begin formulating a plan with your partners. You may leave at four o’clock by using the floo network in this fireplace. This will be your entry and exit point until September 1st. At which time, you will all be expected to ride the train as a collective unit. I hope that this is suitable to all of you. We really are pleased that you all decided to return once again,” McGonagall gave them all a strict smile and lead them back down the stairs.

o-o-o


	2. Chapter 18

The Lady of London Bed and Breakfast was a quaint two story Victorian home, painted in a soft blue with white trim. It looked out of place amongst the other basic brown row houses. Hermione looked up at it as she dropped Malfoy’s arm and grabbed her bag closer to her shoulder. “Let’s check in and go get something to eat, shall we?” Malfoy suggested.

They rang the bell on the outside of the home and a kind-looking older woman came to greet them. “You must be Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy! You’re our last guests for the evening, but we expected you a little later.

We’ve just cleared dinner, I’m afraid. Come in, come in. I’m Gwen.”

Gwen stepped out of the way of the door and smiled at the pair kindly. “It’s all right, we were just thinking we’d go out for a bite,” Malfoy replied, flashing the old woman a dashing smile.

“It’s just the one night, right?” she asked, opening a drawer in the rolling desk and retrieving a key.

“Can we book it through the end of the year? Even if we don’t stay every day, we’ll pay for every day through the first,” Draco asked, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a leather Muggle wallet.

He handed her an identity card and Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. It was so realistic she thought for a moment he might have gotten it the Muggle way. She silently wondered if he had, her thoughts scattered. He and Gwen were talked prices and then he pulled out ten days worth of fare and handed it to her.

“Are you sure about the double beds? We have a cozy little suite here on the first floor,” she said, looking between the pair.

“The double beds with the private bathroom will suffice,” Hermione replied quickly.

Why was Malfoy extending their stay? What were his intentions? She knew he had been close to kissing her before his mother had interrupted. He’d been close enough that she could practically taste the spearmint. He’d held her face so tenderly. Hermione tried to think of what she would have done had he actually kissed her. Would she have slapped him? Would she have allowed him? Would she have kissed him back? Yes. She knew she would have returned the kiss with equal fervor. 

She’d been thinking about his soft pink lips for weeks now.  
Her nerves got the better of her and she bit her lip as Gwen led them up a set of stairs and to the door at the end of the hall. “I hope your stay will be comfortable.”

She excused herself and Hermione stepped into the room, Malfoy right behind her. She looked around and smiled at the quaint, antique feel of the room. Two sleigh-style beds were on opposite walls, and a petite fireplace with intricately carved molding encasing it was on the wall at the foot of the beds. The beds had heavy hand sewn quilts of pastel blue, an extra soft white blanket draped over the foot of each. There was a wooden chest at the foot of each bed and upon inspection, they were empty. Hermione figured they were meant to replace a dresser. There was an armoire on one side and when she opened it, she saw it housed a television. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at it and she smiled. “Later.”

He was eyeing all of the electrical appliances—lamps, the television, an alarm clock—warily. “Are you sure these contraptions are all safe?” he asked, poking the alarm clock with his wand.

“As safe as they can be running on electricity,” she responded with a shrug.

“I don’t trust this electricity,” he told her with his eyes narrowed.

“Muggles have been using it for decades. You’ll be fine,” she told him, rolling her eyes. “Why did you book the room through the holidays? I thought we were only staying tonight.”

Malfoy looked at her for a long moment. “You are reluctant to return to your parents’ home now. I didn’t know if you’d be…uncomfortable staying there as you planned…not to mention, with our penchant for arguing, one of us might need a place to stay.”

Hermione looked at him, gratitude swelling within her. She didn’t think she could ever get used to his random thoughtfulness—it went against everything she knew of him. Though he’d been a different person for months now, she couldn’t get used to his seemingly caring and selfless acts. He broke the stare and shifted awkwardly on his feet.

Hermione moved to the bed closest to the window and began unpacking her bag, stowing all of the clothing in the cedar chest. Malfoy followed suit and they were silent for a moment. “How did you get an identity card?” she asked him finally, curiosity welling up inside of her.

“Let’s just say I came across one and figured it would be a good idea to make a counterfeit, for future use if necessary. I also have a passport, a healthy account at a Muggle bank, and I am in the process of forging documents that state that I have completed secondary school,” he said, shrugging.

She was too surprised to admonish him for counterfeiting documents. “Are you really in control of the Malfoy fortune?” she asked.

He clenched his jaw and folded a sweater to place it into the chest. “Yes. The Ministry considers my father to be dead. For all intents and purposes, he is. So I became the sole beneficiary of his wealth. My mother has her own estate.”  
“Does that mean…the Manor, the business, everything?” Hermione couldn’t help the curiosity.

“Yes. Everything. I met with a team of trustees and accountants right after I was handed my sentence…there are other people handling the daily ins and outs of the business. I have no desire to dabble in the world of banking, loaning or acquisitions. I only wish to reap the benefits,” he finished with a dry laugh.

“And the Manor?”

He nodded once more. “It’s mine…my Mother knows I am now Head of House and I could toss her out if I want.”

Hermione looked at him incredulously. Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Relax, Granger. We may have our disagreements, but she is my mother. Despite all of the mistakes she made in raising me, I love her and would never do something so brash.”  
“Your mother is still so…intimidating…” Hermione squeaked out.

“Yes, well…she and I will be having our final discussion on her beliefs and prejudices when I see her Tuesday,” he replied with a clipped tone.

He looked up at Hermione, who was sitting on the lid of her chest and biting her lip. She couldn’t deny that she had hoped that Narcissa would be different than her husband, that she could look past blood and accept the world around her. Malfoy was growing moody and Hermione sighed. “Let’s go to the little Chinese takeaway place down the street. We can pick it up and bring it back here.”

“That sounds good. All this excitement’s got me knackered,” Malfoy said, pulling on a charcoal-colored wool peacoat.

Hermione looked at him in jeans, a coat and a pair of trainers and shook her head. He looked every bit as good in relaxed Muggle clothing as he did in black suits and school robes. He pulled on his cashmere Slytherin scarf and a pair of gloves. “We could just use a warming charm,” she suggested.

“No. We’re in Muggle London, we should act the part. Or at least look the part,” he replied, shrugging.

They stepped out of the old Victorian home and walked slowly down the sidewalk toward the restaurant, the only sound coming from the cars that passed. “I don’t know how Muggles can drive those death traps,” he remarked, gesturing to a passing taxi.

“You fly a broom at high speeds with no protection to buffer an injury, and yet you’re worried about an automobile?” she asked, chuckling at the look on his face.

“You would never catch me in one,” he said, his tone final.

They reached the restaurant and Malfoy studied the menu much longer than was necessary, trying to figure out what everything was. He finally landed on Peking duck and an order of crispy king prawns with sweet and sour sauce. Hermione shrugged and asked for the same.

She watched as Malfoy stared at the people behind the counter moving swiftly to cook. He seemed fascinated by the appliances and Hermione was reminded briefly of Arthur Weasley. Perhaps in another life, Malfoy and Arthur would have gotten along…

Malfoy paid and grabbed the brown paper bag that contained their food. “This smells amazing. I am absolutely ravenous,” he commented.  
He opened the door for her to pass first, the bell strapped to the doorknob tinkling pleasantly. The air was cold and biting and Hermione hugged her coat to herself. She couldn’t get over how odd it felt to be walking through the Muggle world with Draco Malfoy, who was carrying Chinese takeaway and scowling at the icy sidewalks.

o-o-o

They were silent as they made their way back up to the room. Granger was staring at Draco curiously, trying to gauge his mood as he retrieved their food from the bag. He placed her items on her bed and climbed onto his own. “I’ve never eaten off of plastic cutlery. Mother is probably having a residual heart attack right now,” he commented, taking a bite of his food.  
It felt surreal to be sitting in a Muggle home, eating Muggle food off of plastic forks and spoons with Hermione Granger. He wondered when his life had turned so far upside down from where it used to be—he supposed it was when she showed up at his home at Easter.

Back in the corridor of the Manor, which felt like years ago, he had been so surrounded by Granger’s scent, he’d practically been able to taste the vanilla at the back of his throat. It had filled his head like a fog and he had been overwhelmed by her presence. He’d almost kissed her! He had dragonflies in his belly at the thought of kissing her, his ears turning pink as he tried to eat casually. He had been a fool and had almost ruined everything he’d worked so hard to build with her, all of the trust. Trust. She didn’t trust him—she’d yelled at him about having ulterior motives for inviting her to the gala.

Draco was no longer hungry and he set the plastic dish, half full, on the nightstand between the two beds. Granger looked up at him then for the first time since they’d started eating. “What’s the matter, Malfoy?” she asked, lowering her dish.  
He shrugged and leaned his head back against the wall. “No…you don’t get to do that,” she whispered forcefully.

“Do what?” he asked, raising his head to look at her.

“Withdraw into yourself. Complete disclosure, remember?” she asked gently, placing her food beside his and leaning back on the opposite wall to face him.

“Fine. It…upsets me that you don’t trust me,” he drawled slowly, avoiding her stare.

She was quiet for a moment. “I overreacted and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thought the worst of you. It’s just…you have a virtual harem of pureblooded witches at your disposal, but you invited me. Then you announced, out of the clear blue, that one of the charities is going to benefit people like me…”

“I meant what I said in the corridor,” he said so quietly that he was sure she didn’t hear it.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Draco was growing agitated, discussing his feelings aloud. Why had he ever agreed to this? He mentally kicked himself as he prepared for an awkward conversation he wasn’t sure he was ready to have. “I didn’t want to go with other witches, Granger.”

She was fumbling with the hem of her shirt and looking anywhere but at him. “And why is that?” she asked.

She was really going to draw it out of him. The dragonflies returned and he swallowed hard. “Because…I would like to get to know you better…I’d like to be your…” Her what? Friend? Boyfriend? Lover? “I’d like for you to feel comfortable enough to trust me. To talk to me…as you do Theo…” he tried to keep the bitter jealousy out of his tone.

She stared at him for a long moment and bit her lip. “I…do…”

“No, you don’t. You thought I tricked you into coming with me. That’s not trust, that’s suspicion.”

“It’s not that…It’s…I have a hard time differentiating who you were and who you are now,” she told him.

That statement cut Draco right to the core. He was trying so hard not to be the little snot he was earlier in life and for her to even consider him the way she used to hurt him much more than he thought possible. “I have tried…so hard to be different. To show everyone that I am not the arrogant child I was when I was twelve, passing around brooms to get on the Quidditch team. I have tried to distance myself from my father, from my past.”

“I know…and I see that…but when I start to feel threatened…my defense mechanism is to revert back to being Granger and Malfoy, fifteen and mistrusting,” Granger replied, tears wetting her eyelashes.

“Threatened? I would never hurt you, Granger,” he said quietly.

“Not physically,” she said.

Draco clenched his jaw and looked out of the window over her shoulder. Of course she thought he’d hurt her—her feelings, her reputation, her integrity, her heart… “Well that’s certainly a concern,” he replied curtly.

“Don’t be like that, Malfoy…are you saying that you completely trust me?” she countered.

Draco thought about it for a moment. He really knew very little about the witch across from him, except the fact that he desperately wanted to know everything about her. But did he trust her? “I know that anything I tell you wouldn’t leave this room.”

“But…?” she knew there was more.

“But I don’t trust that you will listen to my side of the story with absolutely no reservations or prejudgment,” he admitted.

She bit her lip and Draco could tell she was thinking. “Well, why don’t we start tonight? We’ve got eleven days before we head back to Hogwarts. Let’s talk.”

“Complete disclosure?” he verified.

“Absolutely. I don’t want you to leave things out because you think I might be disgusted or repulsed.”

“You will hate me when I’m done speaking,” Draco told her, scared out of his mind at the prospect of telling her all of his innermost secrets.

“No…I’m going to hate what you had to do,” she told him, climbing from her bed and crossing over to him.

She climbed up next to him and leaned back against the wall. “We’re here, together. Alone. There are things that we have both done, seen and heard that very few people in this world can understand. It would feel so much better to just…say it aloud.”

Draco drew his knees up and draped his arms over them. Granger pulled the soft white blanket from the end of the bed and spread it over both of their laps. “No rows. No judgment. No running away.”

He was growing increasingly nervous and rubbed his palms on the blanket. fidgeting. He bit the inside of his cheek twice. “Okay. What do you want to know?” he asked, instantly regretting coming to this bloody Muggle home and sitting here with Granger.

She was going to run away and never look back. When she heard of everything he’d done and thought, of the cowardice that she was unfamiliar with in her friends’ circle. He was going to have to avoid her for the next six months…  
“When was the exact moment you knew you didn’t want to be a Death Eater?” she asked.

Damn…right to the punch. “Don’t ease into the hard questions or anything.”

“Complete disclosure,” she said, folding her hands into the blanket and drawing it up to her chin as she drew her knees up and tucked her toes in.

Complete disclosure. “Remember, you asked,” he spat and she nodded. “You would probably think that I realized I had no desire to follow the Dark Lord when I failed to kill Albus Dumbledore the first two times. But it was even earlier than that…before sixth year even started…”

Draco hesitated and Hermione nudged his knee with her own. He sighed. “I received the Mark on my sixteenth birthday. I wish I could say that I was reluctant—but I wasn’t. I wanted to be a Death Eater. I wanted to do right by my family and I wanted the perceived power and fear of me that came with the territory.”

He glanced over at Granger and her face was unexpressive—she’d been around him too long. She was nodding encouragingly as she listened. “My first revel followed shortly after. I went with my Aunt Bella and Snape…we went to a Muggle-born’s home here in Muggle London. Some member of the Wizengamot who’d put my father and Rabastan Lestrange in prison. We were sent to seek revenge for the Department of Mysteries incident and arrests. The plan was to move in and torture his wife in front of him until he gave up the names of the men who guarded their cells. Then kill him.”

Granger’s brow creased. “But something happened?”

Here it was. The moment Draco had dreaded her finding out about. “Yes. He wasn’t home, nor was his wife. But his eighteen-year-old daughter was. Bellatrix ordered me to bind the girl and…” his voice faltered and he breathed in and out twice. “She ordered me to get her parents’ whereabouts out of her, using any means necessary. Including physical…” he couldn’t bring himself to say the word.

Granger was trying very hard to remain stoic but he saw a twitch in her jaw as she bit the inside of her lip. After a moment she nodded for him to continue. “The girl told me she’d never been with anyone…begged me not to…take that from her…” Draco sucked his own bottom lip in and bit hard before he spoke once more. “I didn’t. I convinced the others that I needed privacy and I…I told the girl to remove her underwear and I ripped her nightgown and told her to get into the bed. I cast a sleeping spell on her and told the others that she passed out from fear and pain…”

“What happened to her?” Granger asked, whispering.

Draco’s throat felt like it was constricting dangerously and he was suddenly thirsty. His jaw quivered and he closed his eyes for a moment. “They Apparated her back to my home and placed her in the dungeons and I went before the Dark Lord. I wasn’t an Occlumens yet and he saw right through me. He knew I didn’t follow orders so he had the girl brought before me…and let Greyback…I don’t even know the girl’s name.”

“I didn’t know you were an Occlumens,” she replied and Draco could tell she didn’t know what else to say in that moment.

” Aunt Bella taught me, drilled it into me. I’m skilled in both Occlumency and Legilimency. My mother thought it necessary and for that I am forever grateful. The Dark Lord was not pleased with my…inaction. He ordered me to kill Dumbledore and the rest of the world thinks it is solely as retribution for my father’s failure to obtain the prophecy. But I know it was to teach me a lesson about disobeying orders from my superiors. He wanted me to die trying,” Draco finished.  
“What did your father do when he found out about the revel?” Granger asked.

Draco looked down at his covered knees. “Bellatrix made sure to make an example out of me in front of the lot of returning Death Eaters. Rabastan laughed and clapped his hand on my father’s back and asked if I was actually my father’s son. My father laughed. He laughed. Do you have any idea what it feels like to find out that your own father was not only a murderer but a rapist?”

She shook her head slowly. “I can’t even imagine.”

“That was the moment I lost all respect for Lucius Malfoy. My entire life, he and my mother both taught me to respect women, maintain boundaries, never pressure them. Be the perfect, shining example of a Pureblood gentleman. Stay pure until marriage…and then to find out that he did this for fun…to obtain information…She was eighteen. She was a virgin and my own father thought I should have taken everything from her.”

Granger reached out from under the blanket and took Draco’s hand, intertwining their fingers, moving closer to rest her head on his shoulder. “Did you go on many revels?” she asked.

He cleared his throat, trying to wash away the bad taste Lucius’ name had left in his mouth. “I went on dozens.”

“Did you ever kill anyone?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. I had a hard time at first, even torturing. I vomited constantly, my hands shook so bad my first few attempts at the curses would hit the walls behind the intended target.”

“But it got easier?”

Draco shook his head. “Not exactly. But I was being brought before the Dark Lord regularly and he was using the Cruciatus on me at every turn. That burning, scathing heat beneath my skin…burning embers in my brain…I couldn’t do it any longer. I was told to torture or be tortured, so I forced myself to do it. The thing about the Unforgivables, though…you have to mean it for them to really work. It was never the full thing, but it was enough. The screams…I hear them every night…”

A single tear slid languidly down his cheek and Granger was openly crying on his shoulder. He leaned his cheek on the top of her head. “I’m sorry you had to go through that alone,” she replied after a time.

“I wasn’t alone…I had Pansy. I didn’t believe at the time that I had a choice. I believed that my mother would be killed if I failed. So I did what was asked of me. If I could do it all over again, I’d run,” he said, bitter regret stinging his entire body.  
“Tell me about her,” Granger said leaning up to look at him, their hands still clasped.

Draco looked down at her, her features a stark contrast to the witch she was asking about. He swallowed hard again. “Parkinson was…Parkinson. We got together in fourth year, probably because we’d already been together our whole lives, honestly. It was convenient. I don’t trust people…at all. I have very few friends as a result—only Theo, Blaise and then Pansy. Crabbe and Goyle were lackies, but had no real sustenance to make them friends. The four of us were friends since birth, Astoria and Daphne, too. Outside of them, I have no one. But…I had Pansy.”

Draco found that he didn’t feel awkward discussing his first love with the woman he hoped would become his second. “Pansy was beautiful, intelligent and proper when necessary. A Pureblood’s dream. But she was more than that. She was also feisty and enjoyed breaking the prim, proper, pureblood mold at every turn. She would cheer loudly during Quidditch games and kiss me in the halls, totally unreserved. And that appealed to me. Even at fifteen, I knew I wanted out of the stuffy confines of my life. And she was just as rebellious as I. If it hadn’t been for blood prejudices, you probably would have gotten along splendidly—she could also be a royal pain in the arse.”

Granger laughed lightly. “You loved her,” she noted, wiping a stray tear from his cheek.

“I did. She was with me every time I came back to the school, weak and unable to stand from rounds of torture. She brewed potions for me to help me sleep and did all of my assignments in my first attempt at a seventh year. She would hold me and talk about our future, like we had a fucking clue. She really was a phenomenal girl and I miss her. Less now, but still at random times. Like when I picked Astoria up in the Slytherin Common Room for the Ball. Or when I go into the restricted section in the library, I’ll recall a particularly heavy round of snogging and it’ll hit me.”

“You’ve had so much heart ache in such a short time. No one would ever guess, you build such a mighty wall around yourself,” Granger told him.

“I do not like discussing my feelings. Even now, I feel as though dragonflies are playing Quidditch in my stomach.”

“Dragonflies?” she asked, a small smile on her face.

He raised one corner of his mouth sadly. “My mother always said dragonflies. She would relate quite a bit to dragons. I think she thought it made me feel important, my namesake being used to describe every day occurrences.”

“I saw your collection of dragons…and your Muggle reading nook…” Granger confessed.

Draco actually let out a short, clipped laugh. “Always the curious one, aren’t you? I put up wards around it to keep out anyone who hadn’t read at least three of the books contained within. I suspect you’ve read at least three hundred of the books in that room.”

She grinned sheepishly and put her head back down on his shoulder. She sighed sadly. “There’s so much I don’t know about you. So much that’s still a mystery…but you aren’t the person you once were…”  
“The child I was died, and the man—however fucked up—that I am now rose from those ashes. The things I have seen in my life, Granger…no one should ever have to live through that. I shouldn’t have lived through it,” he said woefully, touching his left forearm.

Granger seemed to instinctually know that he wasn’t touching his Dark Mark this time, but the scars that ran vertically around it. “Why did you try to kill yourself, Draco? Why not just leave—the Order could have hidden you.”  
“Dumbledore offered me just that…on the Astronomy Tower. I think about that every day. But I was scared and young and foolish.”

“So you thought dying was a better way out?” she asked, incredulous but still mousey, her voice cracking.

Draco was silent for a moment, working his jaw. “Sometimes I still think it is.”

Granger snapped her head up, almost head-butting his chin. “How can you say that? Even now?”

“It’s not easy being me. I can’t go anywhere in public because people stare and whisper about me being a Death Eater, challenge me to three-on-one duels that could have put me in St. Mungo’s if there hadn’t been a witness. The media never stops printing horrible press about the Malfoys—those reporters tonight were hand-picked by my mother as friends of the family. I have been refused service in shops and restaurants. My mother receives death threats regularly.”

“It will get easier, the more you continue to do good. They will see that you are not your father,” Granger tried to reassure him.

They were silent for a few pregnant minutes and then Draco sighed. He was reluctant to let go of the contact he had with Granger, but he wasn’t going to push his luck this evening. He’d already attempted one kiss, and by his estimation, that used up his courage for the next ten years. “You must be tired, Granger. Why don’t we call it a night. You can resume your interrogation tomorrow…you also have some talking to do, seeing as I don’t know why we are here or what happened to your parents…”

Granger sat up and, tracing his hand once with her free fingers, she released him and scooted off the bed. “I think that is something that would be easier to show, rather than tell. Tomorrow, why don’t we take a break from this cripplingly depressing conversation…come with me to the Christmas Bazaar in town…then we can go to my home.”

Draco stood and began removing his jumper. “Fair enough.”

Granger turned around as he undressed and began gathering her own sleeping things. “Don’t look,” she murmured as she pulled off her own clothing.

Draco stripped down to his boxers and undershirt, the room too warm to wear much else and pulled back the cover. He waited until Granger’s soft, “Okay,” broke the silence and he climbed into bed. He wandlessly cleared their long forgotten food and reached over, hesitating for a moment, then turned off the lamp. “Good night, Draco,” her voice was timid and sweet.

Draco lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. “Night, Granger.”

He lay there for what felt like forever before he heard Granger’s breaths turn soft and slumbering. He rolled onto his side and looked across the small room at her. The moonlight fell in a long slant across her face, mixing delightfully with light from the dying flames in the fireplace. Her hair was still plaited, but stubborn curls were popping out around her face, framing it angelically. She slept on her side facing him, one hand under her face, the other hugging the blanket to herself. Her lips were parted slightly and she was letting out soft purrs.

Draco thought about everything he had divulged tonight. He hadn’t ever told anyone about the first revel he’d been on, not even Pansy. He was placing a lot of trust in Granger in speaking so candidly to her, and he hoped more than anything that she wouldn’t wake up in the morning and bolt out the door. He watched as she slept, feeling a tad voyeuristic but unable to look away. He thought of earlier in the evening when he’d been so close to kissing her. The pull to her was inexplicable and he didn’t understand it fully, but he knew in those brief moments as she slumbered that he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her,whenever he wanted and hold her hand and talk to her about everything that crossed her mind until the sun rose. Draco fell asleep, thinking of ways he could attempt to kiss her once more, to express that his intentions with her were true and that she could trust him.

o-o-o

Draco felt as though he had just closed his eyes when he was jerked awake by a loud noise. It took a moment to acclimate himself and remember where he was as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. Granger was still lying facing him but she was significantly less covered than when he’d closed his eyes. Her face was screwed up in anguish and she was mumbling, loudly and incoherently, deep moans escaping her lips.

He listened for a moment, unsure of what to do. Be comforting. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and the first thing he noticed was that the room was freezing, the fire mere embers now. He crossed the room and added a few logs to the fireplace, using wandless magic to set them ablaze. Then he crossed to her and shook her lightly. She mumbled and then the noises ended. He sighed and retrieved his wand from the nightstand. He moved the nightstand out of the way and levitated his bed a few inches off of the ground and scooted it to rest right up next to hers.

Draco climbed over the other side of the bed and under his covers. He reached out and touched her bare arm and upon feeling it was cool to the touch, pulled her blanket up over her. The red raised MUDBLOOD across her arm showed in the orange light of the room. He traced his finger over each letter in turn, his heart heavy and sorrowful as the memory of how she obtained it surfaced in his mind. He’d done nothing about it then and he would forever feel guilty about that fact. He traced the letters again, this time in reverse and pulled his left arm out from underneath of him. He slid it between them and turned her hand over so that MUDBLOOD pressed against his Dark Mark, intertwining their fingers.

A single tear slid from his eyes, over the bridge of his nose and splashed onto the pillow. He rubbed his face against the pillow and clenched his eyes shut, willing himself to go back to sleep, to drown out the tiny grumbles coming from Granger.

He was an unforgivable coward and would never be good enough to deserve Hermione Granger.

o-o-o


	3. Chapter 19

Hermione awoke late in the morning to bright rays of light shining through the white sheers. Immediately she became aware that she was in close proximity to someone else. She could feel his skin against her arm, his fingers between hers loosely. She could smell the perpetual spearmint as he breathed slowly. Hermione opened her eyes and saw that he had moved his bed against hers and laced their hands together, facing her. He was sleeping deeply, and she marveled at how peaceful he looked.

The hard set of his jaw and the mask of disguised pain and indifference were gone. He looked almost angelic, his towhead peeking out from under the powder blue bedding. His hair was mussed and sticking up in every which direction and he had a light stubble growing across his jawline and lip, glinting in the stream of sunlight. She saw as she looked at him things she’d never noticed before—his eyebrows were darker than the hair on top of his head; his nose had a slight bump across the bridge before evening out to the pointed, strong and aristocratic base; his parted lips had an attractive bow to them, his bottom lip full and the loveliest shade of rose; he had a birthmark the size of a pencil eraser where his jaw flowed into his neck on the right side and two more down on his throat that looked like a vampire’s kiss.

Hermione reached over and traced some of the edges of his face, the stubble that shined in the early morning light, up over the attractive bump at the bridge of his nose and over his darker eyebrows. He scrunched his eyebrows at the touch but remained sleeping. She dragged her finger down over his right shoulder, bicep, forearm, over his knuckles, across his immaculate fingernails and then down to the left arm that extended toward her, his Dark Mark hidden as it pressed firmly against her own ugly scar. She wanted to lean forward and kiss him as he lay there, to wake him with a firm press of her lips on his. But she refrained, enjoying the sight of a slumbering Draco Malfoy much more than she had any right to.

She thought about what he had told her the night before. He hadn’t harmed the girl, at least not directly. But he carried the weight of her death as though he had turned his wand on her. She tried to imagine him at sixteen, standing in Potions as Slughorn described Amortentia or Felix Felicis, sulking in the back of the class, remembering the young girl who begged for her innocence. She had just thought he was moody, that Harry was crazy to suspect him. She pictured him in the hospital wing after Harry had hexed him with Sectumsempra, only glimpsing him because she was bringing Madam Pomfrey the potions that Slughorn had brewed that month. He had looked so different, sleeping there, the devil in disguise.

The sixteen year old seemed like a totally different person than the eighteen year old that slept peacefully across from her. She still couldn’t imagine his younger self storming into a Muggle-born’s home and staging an attack he couldn’t follow through with. She looked at him and her heart was heavy and sagging with the unshed tears she felt for him in that moment. He had been through more than she had ever imagined and she felt guilty for ever thinking he had the easier life, to tread the line between Dark and Light until the last moment to save his own skin. There had been nothing easy about the last few years of his life and in a lot of ways, it seemed even harder than what she’d experienced. At least her stresses and efforts had culminated in Voldemort’s death. His had only served to burden him. She still had the underlying feeling that at any point he would go back to the old Malfoy, and she found it hard to trust that he had changed completely. Just because there’s no grave to visit doesn’t mean that someone hasn’t died.

But little by little, each detail he shared with her chipped away at the wall she’d built around her heart in Ron’s absence. There was a lot left to be asked and answered for, but for now she was content to gaze at him and cherish the calm, serene look on his face. Hermione gave his hand a gentle squeeze as she stretched her other arm.

Malfoy felt her rustle the sheets in her bed and the squeeze of his hand as he let out a sleepy groan. “Not…yet…five more minutes,” his voice was low and raspy with sleep.

Hermione grinned and turned onto her back, their hands still clasped. “You know Granger,” his husky voice said after a moment and she turned just her face to look at him—he opened one lazy eyelid, “If you wanted to hold my hand, all you had to do was ask.”

She tried to jerk her hand away and he held it in place, laughing merrily. “You are incorrigible!” she told him, laughing herself.

He finally dropped her hand and stretched his full length under the covers, smacking his hands against the headboard. They were quiet, save the groans and agitated sighs he made as he woke up. He sat up on the bed, his legs crossed and looked down at Hermione who scooted up to sit opposite him. “I brought the CCD with me, Granger. Enough for us both for two weeks. It will help with the nightmares,” he told her seriously, his mouth in a frown.

Hermione’s eyes widened and she pulled the blanket up to hide her chest and arms. She looked down at the crack in the beds between them and he tapped her knee with his knuckles. “Hey…don’t be embarrassed. I get them, too. But the draught has slowed them substantially.”

“Did I say anything or…thrash around?” she asked, eyeing the covers that were still tucked at the bottom of the bed.

He shook his head and shrugged. “No. Kind of just moaned and mumbled,” he replied, and he climbed out of the side of the bed that backed up to the room.

Malfoy walked to the chest that still sat where his bed had been and retrieved a small vial of the silver potion. “Take it before bed.”

He set it next to her and levitated his bed back into place, returning the nightstand between the two. She felt inexplicably saddened by the sudden gap between them. “You called this a bed and breakfast? That would lead me to believe they provide breakfast?” he asked, and she had to avert her eyes as the sunlight showed through his green and silver plaid boxers.

“Yeah, they serve it until noon. Why don’t we get cleaned up and then head down—it’s nearly ten-thirty now. I wanted to take you into the city and show you around. It’s really quite beautiful at Christmas,” she told him and moved to leave the bed.

He sauntered into the bathroom and made a noise of approval. “This place is so…cozy…I’ve never stayed in a place like this before,” he called, running the water in the tub.  
“Ah, yes, Malfoy vacations. I’d assume you just rented entire castles,” Hermione teased, peeking into the bathroom.

“Well…stuffy wizarding resorts and private villas, more like. But this place feels like home,” he replied. “Here, I ran the water for you. You go first.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow and sighed. “Can’t you brush your teeth in here while I shower, make it feel more like home, more like us?”

He laughed. “The curtain isn’t exactly opaque, Granger. This is a one person bathroom. I’ll wait out here.”

o-o-o

After a large, boisterous breakfast with Gwen and the other tenants, Draco and Granger walked out of the front door. “You seem more relaxed here,” she commented as he pulled his scarf around his neck tighter.

“Muggles don’t recognize me. It’s so relieving,” he replied.

Clouds had rolled in during breakfast and were heavy with snow. “Shall we continue our talk as we walk?” he suggested, hoping she would share more about herself today.

“Sure. Do you want to ask a question this time?”

He knew what his first question would be. “Why Weasley? Of all the suitors you could have had or could still have now, why that red-haired git?” he asked, trying to stifle the jealousy he felt.

Granger sighed and looked at the ground as she walked. “It’s a lot like what you said last night—convenience. We were friends for our entire stay at Hogwarts…we were close. I partially blame teenaged hormones—I started fancying him in fourth year, thinking about him more than I did Harry, wondering if Ron would be proud of a new spell I mastered or if hewould like my dress at the Yule Ball.”

“It was a stunning dress…I couldn’t even bring myself to think a single negative thought about you that night,” Draco remarked.

“Well…he ruined the Ball for me. Then, I don’t know…our friendship started to be equal parts strained and easy. We both knew that there was an attraction there, but we were both too stubborn to admit it…and so we went…for years,” she spoke slowly, not quite sad.

“So what happened?”

Granger raised her face and eyed the snow clouds before she spoke. “How much do you know about what happened when the three of us left last year?”

Draco thought about it. Not much, really, only that they were off doing something that would defeat the Dark Lord in the end. The papers had kept pretty mum about the hows. “Not a whole lot, honestly.”  
She nodded. “Not many people do. Do you know what a Horcrux is?”

Draco scrunched his face up and nodded slowly. “Pretty Dark magic. I don’t know of anyone who has ever successfully created it.”

“Oh, you knew him quite well,” Granger replied.

Realization hit Draco and he was dumbfounded. “The Dark Lord created a Horcrux? So that’s how…”

“He didn’t create a Horcrux. He created seven: Tom Riddle’s diary—from Chamber of Secrets fame, Marvolo Gaunt’s ring, Salazar Slytherin’s locket, Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, Rowena Ravenclaw’s lost diadem, his pet snake and, unbeknownst to him, Harry himself,” she recalled, ticking them off on her fingers.

Draco stopped walking and stared at her. “Blimey…that’s…impressive…absolutely insane and horrific, but impressive.”

Granger raised her eyebrows at him and slowly nodded. “I suppose you could say that…I would call it psychotic, but…anyway, we went on the lam in search of the locket, the cup, the diadem—though we had no idea at the time what the Horcruxes were or how many. We knew Nagini would be with Voldemort when we found him.”

“How did you find them?” he asked, trying to imagine the magnitude of the task they’d undertaken.

“On the night he died, Dumbledore and Harry went to retrieve the locket…except, it was a fake…we had to track down the real one and it was around Umbridge’s neck as she sat in the Ministry. We took turns wearing it and it became too much…it took us the longest to destroy that one. The cup was in Bellatrix’s vault at Gringott’s. I polyjuiced myself as her after the…Manor… and had a hell of a time, but we got it. The diadem was what we were in search of when we met you in the Room of Requirement before the Final Battle. It was destroyed in the Fiendfyre. And Neville killed the snake, as you saw.”

“You went as Bellatrix? That is pretty impressive, I have to admit. What about the others?”

“The diary was destroyed by the basilisk fang when Harry went into the Chamber in second year. Dumbledore destroyed the ring. And Harry…when Voldemort tried to kill him, he inadvertently destroyed the Horcrux housed within him. It’s why Harry always had a strange connection with Voldemort.”

Draco shuddered at the thought of trying to maintain normalcy while having any kind of connection with the Dark Lord. He hated to admit it, but he had a newfound respect for Potter. “What does this have to do with Weasley?”  
She sighed and bit her lip, their pace leisurely as they walked toward the heart of the city. “Ron left the hunt.”

Draco’s mouth fell open and he looked at her. “Not very Gryffindor of him…”

“It wasn’t for long, he eventually found his way back…but it was long enough for me to realize I didn’t want to live without him. At the time, my prior childhood attraction to him coupled with the platonic love I felt for him and the fear of losing him, so we began a brief relationship,” she finished.

Draco knew there was something more, and he couldn’t quite pinpoint it. “Complete disclosure,” he warned.

Granger seemed to know what he was trying to gather. “I love Ron, I really do. But it didn’t take long to realize it was in the same way I love Harry. The chase was more fun than the kill, if you will. We went through the motions until he left for the Academy. I kept hoping that all of the feelings I felt for him in fifth and sixth year would return, strong as ever.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “He was your first,” he said softly.

Granger blushed and nodded, seeming to understand what he was implying. “He was.”

“Do you regret it?” he asked quietly, honestly wondering.

Granger was silent for a moment as they turned the corner and a huge array of tents and Christmas trees and lights spread out before them, culminating in a view of Tower Bridge and the Thames. There was hustle and bustle as far as they both could see. “Whoa,” Draco exclaimed, overwhelmed by the sight.

Granger looked up at him and smiled at the childlike wonder etched across his face.

“Well, come on.”

They began walking slowly again toward the Christmas wonderland spread out before them, and snow started to fall lightly. “You never answered my question,” he prompted. “Do you regret it?”

She shook her head slowly. “No. I can’t imagine anyone else I would have shared that with, to be honest. He has been my best friend for over seven years now.”

“That explains your reluctance to move into Hogwarts before the start of term,” he laughed lightly.

Granger pinkened again. “Oh, hush,” she said, elbowing him.

“You always reminded me of the ‘wait until marriage’ type,” he shrugged.

“This coming from the guy who told me last night that his parents had tried to drill abstinence into his brain,” she laughed.

“Yes, well…my parents weren’t around when I was fourteen and horny, were they?”

“Fourteen? Geez, I know your reputation precedes you, but that’s young,” she told him, shaking her head.

“My reputation?” he asked.

“Well…rumors around the school…of your sexual prowess…”

“Granger, I have been with four witches in four years, three of which were at the start of this term. I was with Pansy for three years and only her. Then, to tame the sting of loneliness, I engaged in a little fun with two witches, one time deals a month apart. Then…Astoria, which you know all about.”

It was amusing to hear her speak of rumors of his sex life and to know that people thought of him as some huge debonair sex machine. “I am monogamous, Granger. When I am with someone, I am with only them.”

“Why aren’t you with anyone right now?” she asked him, her voice small.

Because I want to be with you, you silly witch. “Would you want to be with me? As fucked up as I am? Knowing what you know about me? The constant mood swings, the Dark past that dictates my present and future, the symptoms I display as an after-effect of War? It’s not worth it.”

Granger stopped and grabbed his sleeve to stop him. “You went through something terrible and you came out on the other side, shattered and broken. All you need is someone to pick up the pieces and put them back together.”  
“That’s a little cliché,” he remarked.

“Maybe. But don’t let me ever hear you say you aren’t worth it. Don’t you want to be in love?” she demanded.

“Doesn’t everyone?” he countered.

“You are every bit as worthy as any of us. You need to see that. Your past is just that—the past. All you can do is continue to move forward, trying to make a better name for yourself. It will get better, eventually. You have to let everyone else see who you are inside—giving, caring, funny, charming, repentant. Stop trying to shut the world out,” she was borderline admonishing.

“No one is ever going to believe that of me, Granger. They will only see the scar on my arm, my last name and my father sitting in Azkaban. I am not worth the hassle that a witch would have to go through to love me,” he said quietly, looking at the passing automobiles.

“Do not ever let me hear you say that you are not worthy of love again, Draco Malfoy. You have a long way to go to accept yourself, but more importantly to forgive yourself. But you will get there one day. I don’t care if it takes me every day for the rest of my life, I am going to prove to you that there is a good man in there, hidden under an abrasive, protective outer layer,” she said, jabbing him in the chest.

He glared at her, the heat of anger rising in his throat. He swallowed it down, wanting to avoid a confrontation with her. “This is a ridiculous conversation.”

He turned and began walking again and Granger sighed. They were nearing the Christmas market and his mood was turning sour. “Why aren’t you seeing anyone? You went on a date with Theo but as far as I can tell, you haven’t been out with anyone else,” he prodded.

Granger was silent for a moment and interlaced their gloved fingers, her face burning scarlet. “Perhaps, I don’t want to go with other wizards, Malfoy,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear over the passing traffic, mirroring his words from the night before.

Draco’s heart started thrumming wildly in its cage. Granger was holding his hand and blushing. She’d said she didn’t want to go with other men. Did that mean she wanted to go with him? There were so many questions swirling around in his mind that he was becoming dizzy, but all he could focus on was her hand in his and the sincerity of her words. “I am no good for you, Granger.”

“Well, then, in typical Malfoy/Granger fashion, we can agree to disagree,” she replied.

“You don’t trust me,” he pointed out.

“I’m learning to. I’m learning you,” she countered, giving his hand a squeeze.

“I’ll only hurt you in the long run,” he said weakly.

“I’m only asking for one day at a time. We don’t need to label this right now…why don’t we continue talking and getting to know one another? You’ve already said it’s what you want—to get to know me. I want that, too,” Granger was starting to mumble.

Draco took in a breath of icy air and tried to steady his nerves. He was positive his hand was shaking within hers. “Please stop talking, Granger.”

She snapped her jaw shut and furrowed her brow. He stopped their stroll and turned to face her. He was elated, but also worried and agitated. “When I inevitably screw this up, when I hurt you, when you are berated by the press for being seen anywhere with me, I want you to remember this day. I want you to remember how you didn’t heed my warning.”

“You said you wanted to be friends, to talk to me as Theo does. But I know there is something more, something you refuse to admit aloud. I feel it, too. This inexplicable pull toward you. I want to trust you, sure, but I want to know you. I want to show you that you are not who you think you are,” she told him. “And you can say I don’t trust you all day long, but at the end of the day, you are the only other person who will have been to my home, who is going to know the depth of my darkest secret. Harry, Ron, Theo…they know what I did. Not how or why—they’ve never been to my empty home. I think that proves that I trust you a lot more than you think.”

Draco bristled under the ferocity with which she spoke, her eyes burning with flecks of fiery gold as she got wound up. Try as he might, he couldn’t steady his heart. He could feel the blood pulsing through his neck as he swallowed and gave one curt nod. He didn’t buy into anything Granger had told him about himself—she just didn’t see it yet. He was a prick and it was inevitable that he would hurt her. He saw the determined set of her jaw and he knew there was nothing he could say to make her back down. He was going to befriend her and possibly more. She was clearly leaving it open for more in the future. He felt a surge of happiness so thick he nearly passed out.

o-o-o

Hermione’s heart was pounding as they started walking once more. She had no idea why she’d said all of that, except that they promised each other complete disclosure. Watching him sleep that morning and the drive to kiss him was more than enough to make her realize that she did like him, that she wanted to take a chance on him. He was broken and hurting, yes, but he was flirty and charming and caring as well. She wanted to make him see that he wasn’t two separate individuals, but one, complex and incredible man.

Complete disclosure. It had felt so uplifting and cleansing to finally say it all aloud. She had no idea where this was going to go from here. If they would become and remain close friends, if they would bridge into something more. She knew she wanted to find out.

They reached the edge of the marketplace and all of her senses kicked into overdrive—the sight of the lights, bright against the grey and purple snow-filled skies, the feel of the cold air and snow falling on her face, his warm hand in hers, the taste and smell of the various treats in the air, the sound of laughter, bartering and traffic.

Hermione looked up at Malfoy to find that he was smiling widely, his eyes scanning the area, trying to take in everything he could. There were arches of bright lights creating a walkway down the center of all the tents, large poinsettia and snowflake shaped lights bursting here and there. There were chasing lights that flashed across the arches and each tent had some kind of light display attaching it to the large arches. There were bows and ribbons wrapped around street lamps, and Christmas trees sprinkled throughout. They could just make out the shape of a large Christmas tree toward the end of the rows, and Hermione knew there was an ice skating rink set up alongside it.

There were merchants selling handcrafted goods, some hawking name brand clothing and handbags, jewelers and divine smelling foodstuffs abound. Malfoy was looking overwhelmed as he tried to take it all in, unfamiliar with anything around him. Hermione squeezed his hand. “All right, there?”

He breathed in and when he exhaled, he let out a short laugh. “It’s a lot to take in. I’ve never seen anything like this, and there are so many people. This is busier than Hogsmeade at Christmas…”

“Do you want to look around?” she asked him, pointing to the first tent, advertising handcrafted ornaments.

He nodded and they walked into the tent. It was cramped and Hermione nearly laughed as she thought about how much more efficiently the space could have been used if magic had been used to expand the interior of the tent. There was a jolly looking man standing behind a makeshift counter and he smiled widely at them as they entered. “How are you today? Enjoying the holidays?” he beamed.

“Yes, very much so,” Malfoy replied, moving to look at the ornaments that hung from the wall. “We will let you know if we need assistance.”

Hermione almost laughed at the shortness of his statement. Not quite rude, but with the air of finality he knew would silence a merchant until he was ready to barter. Malfoy ran a delicate finger over the intricate carvings in some wood ornaments. Manger scenes, snowmen, Father Christmas…he took time to study each one. “Amazing, you hand carved these?” he called to the older man.

“Yessir. Every last one. As you can see, each one is slightly different,” the older man replied, walking over to them.

“And how long does it take to make one?” he asked, lifting one from the hook.

“Anywhere from two or three hours to two or three days, depending on the level of detailing.”

“And what kind of wood is used?”

Hermione raised her eyebrow at him and the man seemed to be put off by the round of questioning. She could tell people usually came in and bought their gifts and left. “Cherry. Exclusively.”

“And how much for this one?” Malfoy asked, handing him the Father Christmas ornament.

“Ten pounds.”

Malfoy studied the man’s face and then the ornament. “Eight.”

“I’m not much for bartering, son. Ten.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “I’m not much for being lied to. This is poplar with some kind of varnish, not cherry. The detailing is incredible, however, so I would be willing to pay eight.”

The older man regarded him for a moment and conceded. “Fine. Eight.”

The man wrapped the ornament and put it into a tiny gift box and then into a bag. When they were outside, Hermione gave him a look. “What was that about?”

Malfoy shrugged. “A memento to remember today by. And, if there is one thing I know in this world, its wood. I’ve studied enough broom handles in my life to be somewhat of an expert.”  
“Are you going to do that in every shop we visit?” she teased.

“Only if I’m being lied to. I would have given him the full amount, had he told the truth.”

They passed a few tents that didn’t offer much to interest them. Malfoy took her hand once more and she grinned like an idiot. They came up to a shop where a man sat, hand blowing glass figurines. Hermione smiled as Draco watched in fascination. He asked for a glass dragonfly and the man obliged, forming a small green and blue insect. They walked through clothing stores, with Malfoy purchasing a new pair of earmuffs and Hermione trying on a new wool coat in deep purple—to support Wulfric House. Malfoy rolled his eyes but purchased it all the same. Hermione protested when he put the money down on the counter. “I don’t need you to buy this for me. I have money—plenty of it.”

“Yes, and I have a lot more. Are we done arguing?” he asked, taking his change from the vendor.

She wanted to protest but didn’t want to spoil the mood and throw him into an angry spell. She nodded as he draped the garment bag across his arm. “Good. Are you hungry?” he asked and she heard his stomach rumble—hours since their brunch.

“Yeah…let’s see what we can get into. It all smells so good,” she told him, pulling him toward one tent that had a particularly savory and familiar aroma.

“We’d like two servings of fish and chips with mushy peas. And two sponge cakes with powdered sugar and clotted cream, and two waters, please,” Hermione said quickly, handing the bored looking girl behind the counter money before Malfoy could realize what she was doing.

As she grabbed the change he narrowed his eyes at her and smiled. “Hmmm…pulled a fast one on me. Won’t happen again.”

They retrieved their food and Hermione suggested they go find a covered table overlooking the ice skating rink. Malfoy followed her and she sat down at the only table available, right next to the tree. They’d been in the town for a few hours, mulling about, and it was beginning to get dark. The sky was the pleasant shade of purple it turned when it snowed and all of the lights glittered across the pockets of white that had accumulated.

“What are they doing,” Malfoy asked, looking down into the ice rink curiously as he sat across from her.

“Ice skating,” she replied.

“Are those blades strapped to their feet?” he asked, eyeing their shoes warily.

She laughed at the look on his face. “Yes, it slides across the ice better.”

“Muggles have a bloody death wish,” he muttered, watching her take a bite of food. “Can we go?” he asked, gesturing with his thumb at the rink.

Hermione swallowed hard and bit her lip. She was never one for sports and was highly uncoordinated. “I’m not too good at those types of things…”

“Not tonight, but another night this week?” he asked, relishing the greasy food before him.

She agreed, hoping he would forget all about it after Christmas. He watched as Muggles turned and twirled and then looked up at the gigantic tree that loomed over them. “Electricity,” he rolled the word from his tongue, tasting how it felt to say it. “All of this runs on electricity, right?”

She looked around at the thousands of glittering lights, the street lamps and soft glows from within the makeshift tent-shops. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Incredible. And this Muggle food…” he replied with a satisfied groan, and they were silent until they finished.

“Do you want to walk to the end and then head back? We can get some warm cider first. If we’re going to my house tonight, we’d better start walking that way soon,” Hermione said, her nerves suddenly intensifying.

“Sure,” he said and they rose, tossing their trash and he muttered a scourgify to clean the grease and food from their hands.

They ordered two ciders from the nearest tent and received the drinks in paper coffee cups. Though the air was bitter as the snow fell around them, she didn’t want to put her gloves on her hands. She was delighted to see that he had forgone his as well as she slid her hand into his. Hermione watched as a small smile tugged at Malfoy’s lips as he looked straight ahead. They walked slowly toward the end of the marketplace and when they reached the stone wall that overlooked the Thames and the Tower Bridge, they turned right and walked a little farther, the crowd practically nonexistent the farther they got. Malfoy shrank their day’s purchases and placed them in his pocket. Hermione stopped and leaned on the wall, looking out over the water.

The bridge was lit up and beautifully menacing, and the drawbridge opened to let a few boats through. She marveled at the way the lights from all around them glittered across the water. Malfoy held her hand as he leaned next to her, shoulder to shoulder and looked out as well. “It’s amazing.”

“What is?” she asked, not breaking her stare as she took as sip of cider, relishing the warm spiced taste.

“My whole life, I was taught that Muggles were inferior. But look…look at everything they’ve done and built by hand. They’ve figured out how science and physics work and created an entire world from scratch. It’s amazing,” he remarked, gesturing toward the bridge as he spoke.

She had never thought of it that way, having grown up with the sights around them. But she could see how, for someone who watched magic create everything around him for almost twenty years, it was truly awe inspiring. She squeezed his hand once more, proud that he was immersing himself into the Muggle culture, not having said one word about their inferiority all day.

“Granger,” he broke the silence and shifted on his feet, staring at the water below them.

She looked over at him and he bit the inside of his cheek before he spoke. “I really do want to get to know you, everything there is to know about you. But I know I’m going to hurt you, that we’re going to fight. And…you should also know, even if we aren’t labeling this, even if we aren’t officially courting, I will not share you. I am a one witch man and I would like the same courtesy extended to me.”

Hermione smiled bashfully. “I don’t think you need to worry about that. And fighting and arguing is what we’re good at, remember?”

He took her paper cup and placed it next to his own and turned toward her. He smiled shyly as he tucked a stray curl from under her knit maroon beanie behind her ear. “You’ve got snowflakes in your hair, Granger,” he whispered, wrapping one curl around his finger and giving a gentle, breathy laugh that left a cloud of mist between them.

His face was pink—with cold or a blush she didn’t know. He used their clasped hands to pull her closer and she knew what was going to happen before she could begin to register it. Malfoy stepped in to fill the void between them and released her curl before placing his icy hand under her hair, on her pulse point. He rubbed his thumb across her jaw before he quickly leaned in to fill the space between them, almost as though his courage would falter if he waited any longer.

The icy feel of his hand on her warm skin sent a jolting shiver down her spine and he was still against her lips for a moment, gauging whether or not she was going to respond. She closed her eyes and brought her free hand up to grasp the lapel of his wool coat in her fist and pressed her mouth harder into his. He pulled back a hairsbreadth and then, when his lips touched hers again, he dropped her hand to cup her other cheek. She pulled both of his lapels down, trying to bring him closer and her back was arched back slightly as she tried to fill the height difference. At the tug on his coat, she felt Draco smile and he traced her bottom lip with his tongue, the warmth a shock after such frigid air.

Hermione gladly allowed him access, smiling back into his mouth. He let out a low growl at the back of his throat that she returned with a sigh of her own. He pulled back slightly and bit her bottom lip, a gentle nibble along her usual chew marks. The snow was still falling softly and she was barely registering the soft, crisp sound of it as it reached the blankets of white on the sidewalk around them.

When he finally pulled away, Draco pressed his forehead to hers and Hermione was delighted to find that he was every bit as out of breath as she. She let out a shaky, feminine laugh and brought her face forward again, capturing his lips once more. She found that he kissed exactly as he was—possessive, but gentle and precise.

After a few more moments, he pulled away again and kissed the tip of her nose and then her forehead before he brought his hands down from her face and wrapped his arms around her. It was odd, their first embrace when she wasn’t crying. She returned the hug, bringing her hands around to touch the hair at the nape of his neck, the rest hidden under his knit cap. She leaned up and kissed his cheek and then down over his jaw and then his lips, once, twice, lingering a brief moment on the second brush of lips on lips.

She pulled away finally and he dropped his hands to rest on her hips, a bashful but pleased smile tugging at his mouth, a deep blush across his alabaster features. A bashful Draco Malfoy was endearing and sexy and she ran one finger over his kiss-swollen lips before she pulled him to her once more.

o-o-o


	4. Chapter 20

Draco could hardly believe it. He’d plucked up the courage to kiss Granger, and not only had she returned the kiss, she’d refused to stop kissing him. Every time he surfaced for air, she came back for more. He didn’t think he’d ever had a kiss quite so passionate, full of unbridled desire and understanding.

She’d tasted of apples and cinnamon, from the cider, but also a faint hint of chocolate from the drizzle over the cake she’d eaten. It was everything he’d lied to Slughorn about smelling in the Amortentia all those weeks ago. Even then, when he’d tried to lie, the potion knew.

Draco was dizzy with the elation he felt, the scent of vanilla that encompassed the air around him, the taste of cinnamon still on his pleasantly plump lips. The kiss had finally broken when one of the boats below them blew its horn and startled them. They’d jumped apart, laughing giddily at the silliness they felt. She’d taken his hand and began strolling towards her childhood home.

Now, they stood before it. Granger seemed apprehensive about entering, her bone-crushing grip on his hand was tense. They stared up at the house, nondescript in every way, and Draco wondered what secrets were hidden within. He was inwardly glad he didn’t recognize the home—he’d worried that perhaps he’d had a hand in her parents’ demise. She was taking short breaths beside him and he could tell she was trying not to cry. His heart broke for her, but he didn’t quite understand what was going on just yet and so remained quiet.

“Let’s go in, then,” she murmured and she took an unsure step forward.

Instead of using magic, she pulled a key from her coat pocket and slid it into the knob, taking one final sharp intake of breath in and slowly releasing it. Granger stepped inside and moved out of the doorway so he could follow. He glanced around and noticed that, while it was clearly a nicer Muggle home, it was boring and unremarkable, the complete opposite of Granger.

He looked down at her and noticed that her shoulders had tensed and she was staring blankly at the sofa before them. She cleared her throat and slowly met his gaze. “Take a look around and tell me if you notice anything unusual,” she instructed in a small voice.

Draco furrowed his brow, not understanding, but he dropped her hand and did as he was told. He lit his wand and stepped first to the mantle and looked at the photos—still and unmoving—of two middle-aged, ordinary looking individuals. There were some from their wedding, some from an island and some with a dog. But only of the two of them, nothing of Granger. He raised an eyebrow at that, but figured they had her photos somewhere else. He moved down the hall, and again, more pictures of the two and some other members of the family, but none of Granger. He opened one door in the hall and it was an office or study of some kind. The second door was a bedroom, completely devoid of personality—clearly a guest bedroom of some kind. Then a bathroom, unused and plain—no bottles of hair potions or vanilla-scented lotions as he would expect for Granger’s bathroom to be filled with. He opened the door at the end of the hall and found what must have been her parents’ room. There was no extensive library, no room that could have even resembled hers, no photos or trinkets of hers anywhere.

Draco walked back down the hall and into the living room where she was standing still, hugging herself and staring at the floor. “There’s no sign of you anywhere here,” he whispered, giving the room a once over to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

“That’s because I had to remove myself from their life—they couldn’t have any recollection of a daughter,” she replied, finally raising her eyes to meet his confused and anxious ones.

Realization dawned on him then, and he felt every ounce of elation that had coursed through his body upon kissing her leave. He felt as though he’d swallowed a lead Quaffle and his mouth was hanging open. “Hermione…I didn’t know…” he choked out, slowly walking toward her.

Her eyes were haunted as she looked up at him, but she wasn’t crying just yet. “They were rounding up Muggles…I thought I had no other choice.”

That statement pierced him. He’d rounded up Muggles. The thought of her having to obliviate her parents, in order to save them from him and the other Death Eaters, made him want to retch. He had no words that were sufficient enough to say to her and he felt the sinking feeling once more that he was not and never would be good enough to be with her.

“I’m…sorry…I can’t imagine what that must have been like…” he whispered, stifling his own pain in order to address hers.

She stepped forward and placed her face into his shoulder, just as she had in that first embrace in the rain so long ago. She sobbed openly for what felt like an eternity. He wrapped his arms around her and removed her cap so he could rub his hand over her hair, whispering variations of “I’m sorry” and “It’s going to be okay” over and over again, not knowing what else he could say or do to ease her heartache.

Granger pulled back finally, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve and gulped down a hiccup. Draco grabbed her upper arms and kissed her forehead, his eyes closed and his lips lingering for a moment. “I’ll get a fire going,” he murmured, the chill in the house unbearable.

He found a blanket on the foot of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders as she stood still. He removed his coat and scarf and put logs into the fireplace, using his wand to light them. The house was aglow with warm light and Draco placed his hand on Granger’s back and led her to the couch. She removed her coat and unwrapped the blanket from her shoulders, spreading it over her lap and holding it open on one side to indicate she wanted him to sit with her. He was regarding her with an uneasy wariness, waiting for her to begin crying again at any moment, maybe start yelling and cursing him for being a Death Eater. But she didn’t. She just sat still and placed her head on his shoulder, her arms wrapped around her drawn legs.

“Where are they?” he finally asked, vowing to himself that he would bring them back to her, if only to alleviate the pain she felt then.

“Australia,” she replied, sighing. “The War ended seven months ago, but I haven’t gathered the courage to find them and try to reverse the spell. So much for Gryffindor bravery,” she scoffed.

He nudged her with his knuckles against her thigh. “Hey, don’t do that. You are the bravest witch I have ever met, and my mother lied straight to the Dark Lord’s face about Potter’s death.”

“I think about them constantly, but I can’t bring myself to track them down. I gave them fake names and planted the seed about Australia, Sydney to be precise. But they could have moved in the last year and a half…”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t be too hard to find, British immigrants to Australia. I’m sure they’re registered somewhere,” he told her, trying to be comforting. “Why didn’t they sell this place if they were moving from the country?”

She bit her lip and looked at him sheepishly. “They did…to me…I used a Glamour Charm to alter my appearance to match my mother’s. I went to the bank and took out enough money from their account to buy this place and sustain the monthly upkeep. Then I disguised myself again as a lawyer and bought the place using their own money, unbeknownst to them…”

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure you weren’t in Slytherin? Because buying your parents home from them with their own money seems pretty Slytherin to me.”

She laughed lightly. “I suppose it does, but my trust fund doesn’t become available to me until I’m twenty one and I couldn’t let them sell this place…they’d have nowhere to go once they came back…if they came back…”  
“So, we’ll go. I’ll go with you and we’ll bring them back,” he told her sincerely.

She chewed her lip and looked away once more. “It’s not that simple…”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, confused once more. “You obliviated them. You and I are powerful enough together to reverse it, one way or another.”

Granger shook her head slowly. “It’s not that…it’s just…I’m not sure if I want to bring them back.”

He looked at her incredulously. “What do you mean?”

She sighed. “I manipulated their minds without first asking them what they wanted. I took away their decision and their rights simply because I was scared. If I reverse the spell, I’m going to have to look them in the eyes and tell them how I took everything from them—their dental practice, their memories, their lives…me.”

“They’ll understand,” he told her, placing an encouraging hand on her knee.

“Probably, but I don’t know if I can face them.”

“Granger…they’re your parents…they’ll forgive you.”

“Forgive me? And then what? We pretend like we’re a happy, normal family? Like I haven’t been ruined by a war?” she asked, her tone pleading and morose.

“You aren’t ruined. You’re resilient and strong. You have weak moments, sure, but Merlin, Granger…you watched people die. They’re your parents and you need them,” he told her, softening his tone.

She was quiet for a few minutes and then pulled back from him. “I wanted to put my Christmas tree up…it was something we always did as a family…maybe it’ll make me feel close to them…”

Draco nodded and stood. “We can go buy one, I’m sure there’s still somewhere open…”

She smiled sadly. “No…I have an artificial one…”

He raised an eyebrow and looked around. She pointed up. “Everything is in boxes in the attic, labeled ‘Christmas.’ We just need to levitate them down.”

Draco pulled the hatch string and stood at the base, looking up into the dark attic. “Accio Christmas decorations!”

Boxes began flying down the stairs and he directed them to the corner where she was standing. Granger frowned. “It usually took hours for my father to go up and down the stairs to retrieve all of these boxes…”  
Draco felt guilty. “I’m sorry…I’m so used to doing everything with magic…”

She pulled the lids off of one box and let out a gasping cry. She slammed the lid back on the box and took off down the hallway. “I can’t do this…I’m sorry,” she muttered angrily as she went.

She went into the guest room and Draco could hear her muttering locking and silencing charms before he heard no more. He was bewildered by her outburst, but knew that the memories associated with the family ornaments cut right through her.

He wanted to go to Granger, to wrap his arms around her and hold her as she cried. But she’d locked herself away and he had a feeling it was because she was nervous about constantly crying around him. He looked around at the boxes and sighed.

There was one that had a photo of a tree on the outside. He opened it and found what looked like plastic tree branches. Curious…he’d never seen an artificial plant before. He opened the box completely and found that there were three parts to the artificial Christmas tree, a long metal rod down the center of each third. He worked out that the tripod at the bottom was meant to be the base and that the other two pieces fit down the metal rod. Easy enough. A six-foot tree stood in front of him and he nodded, pleased with himself.

Draco opened one box and saw nothing but multicolored glass baubles. He looked through another and found a few strands of lights. The electricity in the house was not working, not that he would have trusted it anyway, so he tapped his wand against the strand and was pleased to find the lights were multicolored as well, glowing softly. He walked around the tree dozens of times, threading and tucking the strands of lights where necessary. Then he sifted through boxes and boxes of ornaments until he found some he liked and began hanging them, one by one.

There was an odd sense of satisfaction he felt as the tree became more beautiful with every ornament he put on it. He hoped Granger would appreciate his efforts—she’d wanted to see the tree finished, but had gotten too overwhelmed to participate. All he wanted in those brief, quiet moments as he hung ornaments was for her to be happy. He was still reeling from the information she’d shared with him about her parents—he couldn’t believe how brave she’d been to undertake such a task on her own—but he felt for her as well, saddened by the fact that she had been frightened enough to feel as though she had to virtually kill herself off in order to survive.

He sat on the floor by the tree and retrieved the hand-carved ornament from his pocket and enlarged it to normal size. He turned it over in his hand and heard Granger’s door click open. Her soft footsteps padded down the hall and right behind him. She stopped next to him and ran a hand through his hair.

Draco looked up at her, her tear-stained cheeks harsh in the firelight, and yet she had a small smile on her face. Granger walked around in front of where he sat and nestled herself on her knees between his outstretched feet. She grabbed a branch and shook it lightly, fondly. Her lip was quivering as she spoke. “July. We’ll go to Australia in July.”

Draco smiled widely at her, his brave Gryffindor lioness, thrilled that she’d said, “We’ll go.” She thought they’d still be close seven months from now. He nodded in agreement. “July…Please…don’t be sad anymore, Granger. We’ll bring them back. I promise you.”

She brought her eyes up to look into his, mahogany on pewter. The simple agreeance that they both wished to be together in July clearly made her happy as well. She looked up at the tree once more. “You did this all for me?” she asked, eyeing the way the tree was decorated—a little uncertain and slightly messy, like someone decorated a tree for the first time.

Draco looked at his work, pleased with himself at having done it all the Muggle way, save the glowing little bulbs of the lights. He nodded. “I wanted to do something nice for you, since you didn’t feel you could,” he said, his voice barely audible.  
He leaned forward and looped the ribbon of his ornament around a branch and smiled at the way it looked in the artificial evergreen. When he looked back at Granger, she was eyeing him with the strangest look—admiration and gratitude evident. He turned his face slightly to the right and looked at her from the corner of his eye in a fashion that silently said, “What?”

They looked at each other a moment before she burst forth, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his mouth harshly. He was caught off guard and had to catch himself on one flat palm before they both fell to the floor. He leaned back on his hand, balancing both of their weight, his legs bent slightly at the knee but still outstretched on either side of her. He brought his other hand up and under her hair to rest on the nape of her neck, possessively and gently holding her face to his. It was she who deepened the kiss, sucking lightly at his top lip. His entire body was tingling with the sheer joy and pent up magic coursed through him.

The thought that she wanted nothing more than to continuously kiss him—she’d been the one to keep their first kiss going into their second, third, fourth kisses—made his body react in ways he’d never experienced. Just the thought of kissing her made him ache with desire, and he was hyperaware of every bit of her—the soft texture of her chestnut locks; the warmth of her skin; the salty taste of her dried tears as they kissed; the soft, supple curve of her breasts pressed against his chest; the sinfully delightful little dip where her waist flowed into her hips; the gentle mews that got caught up in the back of her throat, begging to become the moans she was too bashful to produce.

If Draco weren’t careful, he’d push her into a position that he was sure she’d want now but regret later. Granger wasn’t like any other witch he’d ever been with—she deserved more. Even Pansy had been easy to convince—they’d been fourteen and randy and she’d had a crush on him since they were in diapers. The two nameless witches in September had been easy scores, and he’d had to say very little to get them in his bedchamber—a dashing smile and a promise of the best orgasm they’d ever experienced had done the trick both times. And Astoria was missing her Michele every bit as much as he missed Pansy, and so they’d agreed to have a little fun to stave off the loneliness their last year at Hogwarts brought.

But Granger? Granger was different. She’d only ever been with one wizard, her best friend, and it had taken them seven years to seal the deal. She was someone who thought logically with her brain, not with her heart and definitely not with her sexuality. He knew, as she fisted tufts of his hair and kissed him with a fervor he’d never known, that he was going to have to win her heart. He only wished he knew how.

o-o-o

Draco Malfoy was a five billion piece puzzle that Hermione was determined to solve. He was so determined to see only the Dark things he’d done in his past that he refused to see the honest, sweet things he did now. He constantly did little things for her that showed her the good man that was buried deep within. When she’d come out of the guest room, her tears spent and her body tired, to see the Christmas tree up and haphazardly decorated, she knew. She knew the Dark man he’d once been was slowly dying, to be replaced with a man she could see herself getting lost in.

There was an attraction to him that she couldn’t quite explain. All of the months of rows and attitude and hatred that had spilled forth between them was seemingly building an insane tension—a tension that was culminating in the strongest attraction to any person she’d ever had. She tried to tell herself that they weren’t labeling anything, just simply learning each other.

But when Malfoy’s kisses were nearly enough to bring her to ruin, she knew that she had to be careful to pace herself. As he kissed slowly, dominatingly then quick and hard, sucking, biting, licking, all she could think about were the sounds she’d heard coming from his room all those weeks ago—the masculine whispers and the moans of ecstasy, the breathless laughs. She wanted that, all of it, and she knew it.

Malfoy was different though. He’d had meaningless sex, sure, but he was adamant about being monogamously exclusive now—officially courting or not. Hermione knew that the only sex that had held any meaning for him was with Pansy and that he had tried to fill a void of loneliness with the others. She hoped that she could take the sting of loneliness away from him and he would stick to his faithful ambitions. She needed to pace herself or she would be thrust into a situation in which she was bound to get hurt.

But his lips, his kiss. He was addicting. Hermione could scarce think clearly as she felt his lips pull back and his nose rub lightly against her own as he took a quick breath before kissing her once more, moving his hand from the back of her neck down over her shoulder to rest on her clavicle. The sound of their fervent kissing, soft sighs and throaty groans on his part, were filling her ears, the crackling of the fire behind her pleasant. He pulled back once more, wrapping a curl around his finger as he laughed a breathy exhale of air. “Gods, Granger. If I had known you kissed like that, we could have avoided so many weeks of arguments…”

She laughed with him and looked in his eyes as she dragged her nails over his scalp, his flaxen locks tantalizing her fingers. Hermione leaned back on her haunches between his knees and bit her lip. “What the hell are we doing, Malfoy?” she asked.

He grinned. “Learning each other. And pretty damn efficiently, if you ask me,” he replied cheekily.

“Draco…I don’t want this whole thing to just be physical…”

He rolled his eyes. “Granger…I meant what I said. I want to know everything about you—your likes, dislikes, dreams, fears, aspirations…your…desires…everything.”

“I want that, too,” she told him, smiling to herself.

“I don’t see anything wrong with partaking in a little kissing. We’re not even courting, yet, so I don’t see the need to rush into more,” he replied, shrugging.

Hermione bit her lip as she grinned. “Agreed,” she said as she went to sit on the floor with her back against the couch, her toes outstretched toward the warm fire.

Malfoy scooted toward her and sat with his shoulder against hers, reaching over to lace his fingers with hers. “I meant what I said, Hermione. I’ll go with you in July. Even if you can’t do it…I’ll do it for you.”

Hermione nodded, her mood lifted significantly now that she had a time frame and a partner in mind for her trip. “I don’t want to stay here after tonight.”

Malfoy hummed his agreement beside her, then cleared his throat. “I’m glad you brought me here…I had no idea what to expect until I walked through the house…I honestly thought I had something to do with your parents’ disappearance…”  
She put her head on his shoulder and gave his hand a squeeze. He reached behind them on the sofa and retrieved the blanket, momentarily dropping her hand to spread it over their laps. He toed off his shoes and curled his toes toward the fire. “This is so strange,” Hermione commented.

“Hmmm?” a deep hum sounded at the back of his throat.

“Sitting here, with you…kissing you…touching you…it’s serendipitous…”

He raised the sleeves of his long sleeved tee up to his elbows and took her hand, pressing his cheek against the top of her head. “We could argue if you’d like…” he teased, nudging her.

Hermione blamed the magic of the holiday season, the close proximity of his warm body and the addictive qualities of his mouth for the lightheaded feelings she was having. She felt that surge again, to talk to him about any and everything, to learn every facet of who Draco Malfoy was. She’d never felt this crushing, insane pull toward Ron—they’d just fallen together conveniently. That fact almost made her feel guilty. She hadn’t thought about Ron since they’d left Hogwarts for the gala.

Thinking of Ron made her think of the whole Weasley clan. She sighed. “I’m going to the Burrow tomorrow morning,” she told him.

He was silent for a moment. “Is George going to be there?”

“It is his home.”

“So…will you mention…this?” he asked curiously, jealousy evident in his tone.

Hermione thought about it for a moment. Would she tell the Weasleys that she was spending quality time with Draco Malfoy, their long-time rival and former Death Eater? Then she felt guilty for thinking that of him and she knew her answer. “Yes…Ginny already suspects it anyway…”

Malfoy was silent for a moment. “And I’ll say…something to my mother about it. I should be back around two…do you want to have dinner at Nott Manor tomorrow night? Theo had invited us, but I didn’t know how you’d feel after….this.”  
Hermione smiled at that. She would love to see her Slytherin friends as well. “Yeah…I’d like that.”

“And there’s somewhere else I’d like to take you tomorrow night…a surprise,” he mentioned.

That piqued Hermione’s interest. A surprise? “Okay,” she said slowly, nervous suddenly.

Malfoy chuckled and nuzzled his nose into her hair, placing a kiss to her crown and she smiled to herself, the happiest she’d been in a long time.

o-o-o


	5. Chapter 21

Draco awoke in a pissy mood. He was still sitting on the floor with Granger leaning into him, the fire nonexistent in front of them. He had a crick in his neck and his legs were asleep. Granger must have felt him shift because she groggily leaned upright and groaned.

He was irritated and he knew exactly why—Granger was going to the Burrow and George Weasley would be there. Ron Weasley may not be able to return to his home as he and Potter were essentially quarantined in Auror Academy, but he didn’t like the idea of another Weasley man being interested in his witch. When had she become his witch? He tried to remember…perhaps when she’d walked into the Hogwarts therapy sessions in July, like a specter to haunt him.

Then there was the little blip in his day he’d have to endure—seeing his mother yet again. He longed for the days when seeing his mother was easy, when Muggle-borns were still Mudbloods and he agreed with everything his parents said. But war had a way of changing things, sometimes for the better—he doubted he’d ever have considered Granger honestly if they hadn’t gone through the War—and sometimes for the worse—he’d changed his belief system so much he’d alienated himself from the one woman who had consistently been there the entirety of his life.

Their separate mornings, coupled with the stinging pain in his neck from sleeping at an odd angle all night, left Draco irritated and put-out. He needed a release. Granger seemed to sense the shift in mood from the night before and she sat upright, putting a little distance between their shoulders. “What’s the matter?” she asked him quietly, her voice still heavy with sleep.

He rubbed the sleep form his eyes and muttered a quick, “Nothing.”

“That’s a lie and we both know it,” she told him and she was right.

“Dammit, Granger, why do you have to push? Can’t you ever just let things alone for five fucking minutes?” he quipped, moving to stand, craving the anger and release that a good row would bring.

Granger furrowed her brow and looked at him. He knew she was bewildered by his moodiness, given the fact that less than twelve hours before they’d been snogging two feet from where they currently sat. She’d said she wanted to get to know him, everything, and this was his current mood. If she wanted to deal with him, she’d have to get used to the Darkness creeping in once in a while. He wasn’t a bloody Hufflepuff.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” he snapped.

She raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He wanted a fight—an all out verbal brawl that ended in a round of snogging like he’d never experienced. But, to his dismay, she wasn’t rising to the occasion—this irritated him more. She picked a fuzzy from the blanket and pursed her lips. “Well…Happy Christmas to you, too.”

He groaned. “Why can’t you just yell at me and tell me how much of an arse I am for being a prick after such a great evening? Then I can lay you down on this couch and kiss you until you can’t breathe?” he snapped.  
She looked up at him. “Well, perhaps if I knew why you were being a prick, I could participate.”

Granger had a sparkle in her eye then, and though her mouth was set as though she were dying to hit him, her eyes said she wanted a row just as badly, if nothing more than for the passion it would ignite. Draco felt his heart flutter and worked his jaw. “Fine. I don’t want you anywhere near George Weasley.”

She scoffed. She fucking scoffed at him. “I hardly think you are in any position to tell me whom I can and can’t be in the presence of. We aren’t courting, remember? I told you I would not engage in any activities with other wizards, but talking to them hardly qualifies as a physical interaction. The Weasleys are my family.”

“You told me it would only be me. The way you kiss me…you are mine, Granger, and you know it,” he said, venom in his voice, throbs of desire in his core.

Draco loved the sight of a fiery Granger and he loved the steam a good row with her. She stood to her full height, trying to be more intimidating than her five-foot-two-inches. Merlin…he could feel the intense desire rolling off of her. He needed to stifle down the burning want to toss her down and have his way with her—she was different than the others. “Your what, exactly? Your date when you need one? Your token Muggle-born? Your dirty little secret? Your Mudblood?” she asked, crossing her arms and raising a stubborn eyebrow at him.

He took a step toward her, clenching his jaw and saw a glint of gold in her chocolate eyes. “My witch.”

“So you think after two days of talking and two rounds of mediocre kissing, you can claim me as your own?” she challenged.

He took another step toward her, closing the gap between them. He grabbed her hips and snapped them against himself. “Mediocre? I’ll show you mediocre, witch. You’re mine, courting or not,” he said and he brought his mouth to hers, not being at all tender as their first two kisses had been.

If she wanted him, she had to take both sides of him—the Dark and the Light. Because he was far from being a perfect balance of both and the way the scales teetered in either direction with something as simple as her delight in a Christmas tree or his aggravation at a Weasley brother, he felt as though he was going crazy trying to maintain balance at all.

o-o-o

Malfoy was not kissing her at all like he had prior. He had purposely goaded her into an argument, testing how far he could push her. She didn’t know what bug had crawled up his ass, but she took the bait and served it right back to him. A short row with him was enough to set a fire inside of her. Merlin, it was going to be so hard to maintain abstinence for any length of time around him—what with her wanting to jump his bones when he was being sweet and when he was being a prick.

She was reminded once more, as he backed her into a sitting position on the couch and put a knee between her legs, his hands on either side of her head to hold himself up, that he had a dangerous, Dark edge to him. This had once frightened her and repulsed her, but it now turned her on more than anything she’d ever felt. Her head was swimming from the paradoxical situation she found herself in—just last night he’d been so gentle and now he was being possessive and testy. Even if we aren’t officially courting, I will not share you. His words from the Tower Bridge rang in her ears. Hermione loved when he was sweet and tender and caring—it was endearing and made her heart swell. But, Gods, she loved it just as much when he was dominating and possessive and rough—it was sexy and made other parts of her swell.

Hermione twisted her fists into his hair, tugging lightly as he pulled back and bit her lip. He leaned with one hand against the back of the couch and used his other to sweep her hair away from her neck and around her other shoulder. He pressed the hair into her neck as he skimmed his nose across her exposed jaw and brought his lips to her pulse point. She knew he could feel her heart thudding as her heartbeat escalated and he smiled into her neck before gently sucking and biting the flesh.

The feeling of his mouth drawing blood to the surface of her skin brought flashing images of the other places he could work his mouth and she let out a feminine moan at the thought. She felt a rumble of laughter in his throat as he pulled back. “How’s that for mediocre?” he asked, looking down at her.

Malfoy was grinning evilly and she was breathless as she stared up at him. “You are such as arsehole!” she screeched, exasperated. She swatted his chest.  
His knee was still between her legs and he leaned back in to whisper in her ear. “Don’t pretend you aren’t every bit as turned on as I am, Granger,” and he pulled the collar of her shirt away to place a few more bites along her collarbones and bare shoulder.

She wouldn’t try to deny it. She could feel his excitement pressing into her thigh as he leaned into her and she knew that, had she not been wearing jeans, he’d know how true his words were. Malfoy finished his assault on her skin and pulled away. He pushed himself away from her and groaned. “I want to take this slow, but you aren’t making it easy for me,” he said accusatorily, sitting next to her and tossing his arm on the back of the couch behind her.

Hermione’s head was still dazed but she had enough sense to look at him incredulously. “Me? You’re the one who picked a fight and then kissed me! Or rather, you picked a fight so you could kiss me!”

Malfoy grinned sheepishly. “I do enjoy that little glint of determination and fire you get in your eyes when I challenge you.”

“Well, perhaps if we are to take this slow, you should stop picking fights,” she told him, the flush beginning to leave her face.

He gave a thoughtful hum. “No…I don’t think I will.”

“Are you mental? I’ve never met someone who could go from angry to complacent in the blink of an eye.”

“Oh, I’m still plenty angry,” he remarked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I have no desire to be with George. Even if I wasn’t currently doing whatever this is with you, I couldn’t do that to Ron. He would feel doubly betrayed. At least with you, if you’re still around when he gets out of Academy, there’s only one betrayal to contend with.”

Malfoy pursed his lips and Hermione could sense that the release he’d felt when kissing was ebbing away, being replaced yet again with jealousy and bitter repugnance toward her friends. Her question to him earlier rang clear in her head. How could he be so jealous already when they’d only snogged a few times? Not that she could blame him—she felt a feral possessiveness over him as well.

She sighed. “I need to get ready to go.”

He gave a curt nod and crossed his arms over his chest as he sat there, placing his head back on the couch and closing his eyes. There wasn’t a whole lot she could do to get ready—they hadn’t brought their bags with them, unsure of whether they’d be staying here. She knew she couldn’t stay here another night, it was too painful. But there was an end in sight—July was only seven months from now and she’d be done with school. That fact gave her a small comfort.  
She went into the bathroom and upon seeing her hair, decided to twist it into a messy plait. As Hermione dragged her hair over, she saw the result of Malfoy’s assault on her flesh—not one, but three separate love bites, purple against her pale flesh. Normally, she would march out there and give him a piece of her mind—tell him why he had no right to leave marks, how she wasn’t some slag he could mar up, how he was insufferable. Hermione he knew he’d done it on purpose—he wanted to make sure she was aware it was he that she was currently unofficially courting. For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to be angry—if anything it turned her on more that there was a man who wanted nothing more than to claim her as his own. I will not share you. She could easily have used a glamour charm to hide them, but she found she didn’t want to. She brought her hair around and concealed them, but the knowledge that they still showed bright underneath made her bite her lip, her heart fluttering.

Hermione stared at herself for a few more moments, wondering to herself when she’d become someone she didn’t recognize—broken by war, incessantly crying, scared of the unknown, wanting to shag the enemy, silently thrilled at a domineering man. Where was the strong-willed, independent woman she had thought herself to be, who’d promised herself she could do anything she set her mind to? Perhaps, like Malfoy, she had two sides that refused to merge into one.  
She gathered herself and left the bathroom to find him pulling on his coat. “I hardly think these,” she pulled her neck to the side and lifted her hair, “were really necessary.”

“You could glamour them,” he stated simply, wrapping his scarf around his neck.

Malfoy took a step closer to her and leaned in so she could feel his breath tickle her hair. “Or maybe you like being marked up by me? Maybe you like the knowledge that I consider you mine so soon?”

She tried to glare at him when he pulled away, but he was right and he knew it. He smirked, almost looking like the old Malfoy for a moment. But the smirk still didn’t reach his eyes. He was still dreading her return to the Burrow. “I’ll meet you back in our room by two. I need a shower before we go to Theo’s,” he stated and he leaned in one more time. “Mine.”

And he Apparated without another word or kiss goodbye. I will not share you. Hermione sighed and looked around her childhood home, the hastily decorated tree still beaming. She tapped the lights and they went dark, then fingered the ornament that he’d purchased. If nothing else, that ornament would be here as a reminder that this week hadn’t been a dream, should things go south and he wasn’t around in July anymore.

She looked around her childhood home one more time, sadness enveloping her now that it was empty. She vowed to bring her parents back, hopefully with Malfoy’s help, before Apparating to the Burrow.

o-o-o  
Hermione landed just outside the Burrow’s wards and suddenly felt very nervous. She hadn’t announced her coming and, though she knew they would welcome her with open arms, she felt uneasy. Perhaps it was because she had a secret now…a blond-haired, infuriatingly persistent secret that simultaneously thrilled and intimidated her. She silently thanked the Gods that Ron and Harry weren’t allowed to leave the Academy for two years, including for holidays. This was going to be awkward and hard enough without her two best friends.

She felt a pang of sadness as she looked at the Burrow and thought of her two friends. It had been months since she’d seen them, talked to them, ruffled Harry’s unruly hair and listened to Ron’s boisterous guffaws. At school, with all of the added responsibilities she and the other eighth-years had and her odd attraction to Draco Malfoy, it was easy to put her loneliness and longing for her friends in the dark recesses of her mind. But here, at the Burrow, with the family she considered her own, it was going to be hard. She wished Malfoy had come with her—he’d gathered some strange ability to comfort her like no one else…then she laughed at the thought of showing up at the Burrow’s front door with Malfoy in tow, no explanation of any kind.

Hermione took in a sharp breath and hoped that she was still able to make it through the wards. She stuck an arm out and felt the magic course through her like mild jolts of electricity and stepped through. A wave of relief hit her as she heard their voices in the back garden. She walked around the side of the house, unable to make out intelligible conversation and saw the Weasley’s sitting at a long table. Molly saw her first and stood. “Hermione, dear! We weren’t expecting you! Come, come, we just started breakfast!”

The rest of the Weasley table fell silent and looked at her. After a few awkward moments of her shuffling toward the table, Ginny let out a laugh. Hermione looked at her friend as she slid in next to her. “What’s going on?” she asked the redhead and Ginny grinned broadly.

“Tell me, Hermione, how has your holiday been so far?” she asked.

All of the Weasley’s eyes were on her, George’s bearing into her soul. “What do you mean?” she asked, feeling warm around the collar. Ginny was implying something and she knew it had to do with Malfoy.  
Ginny popped a bite of sausage into her mouth and put one finger up as she stood from the table. It took her two seconds before she was back, brandishing a copy of Witch Weekly. She set in in front of her and Hermione groaned internally. She and Malfoy were splashed across the front—the moment he’d leaned in to whisper “…Weasley will see our picture all over the place,” forever enshrined in the photo. It looked much more intimate than it actually was, with both of them sharing a secretive smile, and Hermione silently cursed the reporter’s ability to twist things.

“It’s not what it looks like,” she tried.

“It looks like you went to a fundraising gala hosted by Narcissa Malfoy at the Manor, with none other than her towheaded brat, Draco Malfoy,” George said, leaning in to give her a look that clearly said “cut the bullshit.”

“Well…that’s exactly what happened…but this photo is misleading,” she tried to clarify, feeling her face burning.

“Why don’t you let Hermione eat in peace, George. It’s Christmas,” Molly admonished.

Charlie and Bill exchanged a look, clearly entertained by the unfolding events. George narrowed his eyes. “Really…well, let’s turn to page ten, shall we?”

Hermione hesitated a moment before she opened to page ten. There, another misleading photo—this time the moment Draco had spotted the Parkinsons and grabbed her hand for comfort—emblazoned the page with the headline “MORTAL ENEMIES OR PASSIONATE LOVERS?” She groaned.

“So?” George prompted.

“So…I went to a gala with Malfoy. He’s not the same, he’s changed,” she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

“Changed? His lot killed Fred!” George was furious and Hermione couldn’t remember a time in her eight years of knowing the Weasleys that she’d ever seen him like this.

“George!” Arthur and Molly both interjected, Molly looking worried at the turn the conversation had taken.

George rose from the table and stormed off in the direction of the swing that nestled into an unseen nook in the yard. Hermione watched him go and sighed. “Ignore him, dear, today’s just not a good day,” Molly said sadly, wiping a tear of her own as she tried to make the best of her first Christmas without her son.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Hermione said, moving to stand and take her leave.

Ginny put a hand on her and pushed her back down. “Just give him a few minutes. Today’s been rough on him.”

Hermione eyed the rest of the Weasleys and saw the same look of defeat on their faces. It was silent a moment before Charlie took a big sip of orange juice and cleared his throat. “I think the real question here is, are you mortal enemies or passionate lovers?” he asked, trying humor to break the silence.

Ginny busted out laughing as Molly shot a death glare at her second child. Arthur raised an eyebrow but tucked into his plate and Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. Charlie looked at her expectantly, taking a bite of eggs and gesturing with his fork that he was awaiting her response.

Hermione could feel her face flushing and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. There was a warming charm placed around the table, melting the snow in a fifteen foot radius, but she suddenly wished for the cold air. She cleared her throat and stared at the plate of bacon before her. “Malfoy and I are…talking…”

“And snogging?” Ginny offered, grinning even more widely when Hermione’s blush turned a violent shade of vermilion.

“He really is different than what he used to be. He is not his father and he’s been trying every day to prove that,” Hermione said, looking around the table.

Ginny nodded. “He’s been tolerable while refereeing. I haven’t heard him say one derogatory thing about…well…anyone.”

“Draco Malfoy,” Arthur said his name as though to taste how it felt on his tongue. “Well…his father certainly was a sneaky snake, but Minerva has given young Draco an outstanding review to Kingsley.”

“People change,” Bill stated, shrugging his shoulders and helping himself to another pancake. “Of course, I’d never shag a Death Eater, but that’s just me. Ron is going to have an aneurism when he gets back.”

Fleur swatted her husband’s arm. The Weasley men were making it their mission to torment Hermione, but she was grateful their tones were at least playful. She looked in the direction George had walked. “Maybe I should go talk to him?” she asked.

Molly nodded. “I think so.”

Hermione stood and walked around some hedges to see George sitting in the old swing, his head between his knees. He looked up when he heard the crunching of snow under her feet. She quickly cast a warming charm over the area and sat down beside him. She placed a hand on George’s back and fought back a tear at the thought of Fred being gone. “George…I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

He sat back and put his arm across the back of the swing, one foot over his bent knee. “I’m sorry I yelled. It’s just…every day…I’m reminded of Fred. I had to take all of the mirrors out of my flat because talking to my reflection was becoming too much of a temptation.”

“Oh, Georgie…” Hermione put her head on his shoulder and he dropped his arm to hang around her shoulders.

“Mum convinced me to return to Wheezes…I’ve contacted Longbottom. He’s growing a few herbs and plants I need to make some new products…a line of ‘Perk-Up’ products,” he told her, dropping his foot from his knee to the ground to begin swinging slowly.

“That sounds great. I’m sure there are plenty of witches and wizards who could use something like that,” she told him encouragingly.

George was a Weasley and therefore she loved him. As she rested her head on his shoulder comfortingly in a show of camaraderie, she inhaled his scent. He smelled similar to how she remembered Ron to smell—fresh mown grass and the laundry supplies Molly used. She was struck by how different his arms felt from Ron’s—Ron was lanky, but muscular and had a stronger build. George was thinner, taller. It was pleasant enough to comfort him, but she knew that there would never be anything more, Malfoy or not.

“So…Malfoy, huh?” he asked, bitterness evident in his voice.

Hermione nodded into his shirt. “Malfoy.”

“I can’t begin to understand what you would see in him—he was a Death Eater, after all. His lot did kill my brother,” George said slowly.

“He has a whole history that none of us ever knew about, George. There is so much…messed up about how he came to be a Death Eater and what he had to endure. He may have thought he had no choice, but he was far from being a willing participant,” Hermione replied.

George was silent for a moment. “That slimy haired git always was a bloody coward. I don’t even doubt that he would be too pathetic to be a proper Death Eater.”

Hermione pursed her lips at his statement but was thankful that it was, at least in part, true. She wouldn’t call his lack of being evil enough to be a true Death Eater pathetic, but redeeming and heartwrenching. She said nothing and he sighed after a moment. “You know Ron is going to flip his shit when he finds out, right?”

“I’m sure he’s seen the article,” she said flatly.

“Maybe…but they keep them pretty well isolated during training,” George replied.

“His picture was in the same magazine, with his lips pressed firmly to a coworkers,” she said harshly.

“Hmmm…yes, well, that was a fluke. Reporters must have been using omnioculars or something. They haven’t been able to leave the Ministry’s compound since September first.”

Hermione was silent. She refused to let herself get riled up about Ronald Weasley again. She’d cried those tears and ate Malfoy’s expensive ice cream to wash away the bitter taste Ron had left in her mouth. Now, she was going to focus her efforts on letting Malfoy into her heart…the little ferret. She smiled at the thought of him.

George tugged at one of her curls. “You’re a beautiful, smart and popular witch, Hermione. If Malfoy puts one toe out of line or I find out he’s only doing this for publicity, he will have not only Ron, but myself, Bill and Charlie to contend with.”  
Hermione sat upright, making sure her hair was safely around her neck. “It’s not like that, George. In fact, he’s been enjoying time in the Muggle world where he’s not recognized at all. He hadn’t left Hogwarts until the night of the gala. He doesn’t want publicity or recognition.”

George clenched and unclenched his jaw. “My threat still stands. I will beat him with my bare hands.”

Hermione grinned at him. “Let’s go back and finish breakfast, shall we?”

o-o-o


	6. Chapter 22

Draco went into the drawing room where his mother was propped up primly, sipping her morning tea. He groaned inwardly and took deliberate steps into the room, his shoes echoing across the black marble floor. “Mother,” he greeted her, walking to where she sat and kissed her cheek. “Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas, dear,” she chimed, feigning civility.

Draco knew she was still fuming from the gala and he braced himself for the argument that he knew would ensue soon enough. There were a few presents under their pristinely decorated tree. He smiled as he thought of the tree he’d decorated by hand only two nights before.

“Will you be staying for dinner?” she asked, trying to be cordial.

“No, I’m going to Theo’s. He invited us for Christmas dinner.”

“Us?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Hermione and I,” he replied.

Her lips pursed and she nodded once. “Draco,” she said, her tone hard.

“Mother, please. I do not want to keep having the same argument with you,” he groaned, sitting down ungracefully across from her in a chair, slumped childishly.

“Draco,” she began again, giving him a stern glare. “I just want to know what your intentions are with her.”

He stared at his mother, skeptical. What was he supposed to tell her? That he was in love with Granger? He wasn’t…yet. That he was going to marry her? The thought hadn’t crossed his mind…yet. That they were courting? They weren’t…yet. 

“Right now…we’re…talking.”

“Talking?” Narcissa echoed. “You make it sound like you’re in negotiations or something.”

“We’re trying to get to know one another,” he clarified.

His mother sighed and for the first time he noticed how worn and weary she looked. She was still elegant and poised as she’d always been, but she had deeper lines around her eyes and dark circles around them. He bit the inside of his cheek and leaned forward. “Mother. The Pureblood/Mudblood mess—it doesn’t make sense. If you could get past the nonsense that Father and Bellatrix spewed for so long, you’d see that.”

“I just don’t understand, Draco. Why her?” she asked him, her tone woeful.

“I don’t know, Mother. Why Lucius? Why’d Bellatrix pick Rabastan? I can’t help who I’m attracted to anymore than anyone else. I’m just more open-minded which widened my prospective pond.”  
“What is so special about her though?” she pressed, raising an eyebrow.

What wasn’t special about Granger? “Her name is Hermione. And…I don’t know…everything. She’s brilliant, more so than I. And she’s feisty and challenges me, keeps me on my toes daily. She’s naturally beautiful…I mean…you saw her at the gala…” he bit the inside of his cheek once more. “Please don’t ruin this for me.”

His mother looked at him and inhaled slowly. “You know I just want you to be happy, Draco. But…this is a hard potion to swallow.”

Draco looked at the ground between them. “Well, I would suggest you learn to swallow it, because I’m serious about what I said. I will leave if that is the only way to distance myself from Lucius’ ideals, but you will not hear from me again.”  
Narcissa looked at him, a tear in her eye. “Please do not do that. I’ve already lost your father. I can’t lose you, too.”

“Then you need to learn to accept the new world we are living in, and that begins by accepting Hermione Granger as my prospective witch. If she and I decide to start courting, I expect you to extend the same courtesy you did to Pansy and would have to Astoria.”

“A thousand years of pureblood in the Malfoy family…and it’s all going to end with you,” she shook her head and set her teacup down.

“Quit being melodramatic, Mother. I’m still a Malfoy. My children will be Malfoys,” he spat.

“Yes. Little half-blooded Malfoys. You need to remember who you are, son,” she retorted.

Draco could feel the anger welling inside of him like a plume of vomit. “I am Draco Malfoy. Ex-Death Eater. Fuck up. From a long lineage of fucked up Malfoys and pureblood bigotry. No more, Mother.”

“Language, Draco Lucius. And did it ever occur to you that this girl could be using you because of your name? Your affluence?” his mother attempted to challenge.

He stood then, sick of their discussion. “Did it ever occur to you that she has her own name? That she was the War heroine and doesn’t need to piggyback off of my money? Who would get with a Death Eater for money? And did it ever occur to you that it might look as though I am only with her because of her name? Her status?”

His mother looked almost hopeful at that thought. “Is that what you’re doing? Trying to make a good name for yourself by getting with a Muggle-born?”

He had to grit his teeth to keep from yelling at his mother, his respect for her wavering as he stood rooted to the spot. “You really don’t know anything about me anymore. Owl me when you’re ready to accept change and realize that I have my own life, my own thoughts and my own opinions. Happy Christmas, Mother.”

With that, he turned on his heel and marched out, ignoring Narcissa’s calls for him to return. He punched his hand through the wall as he left, relishing the trickle of blood that appeared across his knuckles. It wasn’t even noon yet and Granger wouldn’t be back for another couple of hours. He quickly Apparated, when he’d gotten past the wards, back to the Bed and Breakfast. He could feel the rage welling up inside of him and he needed to squelch it down. He tried desperately not to think of what Granger could be getting up to at the Burrow with George Weasley sniffing around.

o-o-o

“You need to give me every detail, ‘Mione,” Ginny said, closing her bedroom door behind her and rounding on her bushy-haired friend.

“About what?” Hermione feigned ignorance.

Ginny snorted. “About what? About Malfoy!”

“There’s nothing to say really…” she replied.

“There is much to say. Like…how did you go from hating him to holding his hand? I thought you were going as a friendly date to the gala. Those pictures look anything but friendly,” Ginny pressed, flopping down on her bed and turning on her side to prop her head up on her hand and stare at Hermione.

Hermione turned back and forth on the rolling desk chair, her feet up on the desk. She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face at the thought of the last two days. Ginny fake gagged. “Oh, Godric! You cannot be serious!”  
Hermione snapped her eyes back to her friend. “What?”

“That sickening look on your face! You didn’t even look like that when you talked about Ron! And now, Malfoy is making you look like a damn fifteen-year-old schoolgirl!”

Hermione raised an eyebrow but didn’t dispute her friend’s claims. Ginny scrunched her nose. “He is super gorgeous. Though…I would have thought his rancid personality would have been enough of a turn off for…well, anyone. So…what’s he done to make you look so dewy eyed?” she pressed, anxious to hear some details.

Hermione bit her lip before launching into the entire story of what had taken place since they’d left each other three days prior. It felt as though she talked forever before she finally finished with him claiming her as his own that morning—though she left out the part about the love bites. Those were private, despite being so visible if her hair shifted only slightly behind her shoulder.

Ginny squealed when Hermione was done. “I can’t even believe we are talking about Draco Malfoy! Everything you’ve told me goes against everything we’ve ever thought of him!”

“He’s so different now…every day he gets a little more human…sweeter but still…rough around the edges. It’s a dichotomy that makes me crazy!” Hermione gushed, feeling like a giddy schoolgirl.

She and Ginny had never been really close—she was always more apt to be with Ron and Harry. But in her best friend’s absences, she found Ginny enjoyable to speak to. She’d never had the opportunity to talk about boys and such growing up, so it was a change in conversation.

“So…how’s his kissing?” Ginny asked, grinning widely.

Hermione groaned in pent up sexual frustration. “Amazing. Sometimes he’s soft and sweet and other times he’s rough and domineering. I don’t know what the bloody hell is wrong with me…We agreed to talking and getting to know each other, but all I want to do is kiss him and touch him. We’ve only been staying with one another for two days but it feels so…right. Like our past few months at Hogwarts have been building up to this!”  
“Oh, Gods, ‘Mione—you’ve got it bad! For Malfoy!” she shook her head as if she still couldn’t believe it. “Ron and Harry are going to kill him, I hope you know.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ronald is hardly in a position to care what I do with my life. And Harry is…more understanding. He’ll come around once he interacts with Draco more. The others seemed…okay with it…”

Ginny shrugged one shoulder and then laid back in her bed, staring lazily at the ceiling. “Bill and Charlie didn’t know him—only his name. They’re fair enough to want to build an opinion on an individual based on their interactions. Percy is…Percy. He could care less about anything anymore. I am incredulously curious amazement that you could care for the little ferret. And George…”

“George, what?” Hermione asked.

Ginny looked guilty for a moment. “I think dad must have had a talk with him about why he shouldn’t be interested in one of his brother’s exes. Angelina Johnson’s been owling him pretty regularly for the last couple of days…”

Hermione almost breathed a sigh of relief. Angelina would be good for George and she was thankful to Arthur for pointing out what should have been obvious to the remaining twin. She couldn’t blame him—he was going through a plethora of emotions and he needed the love and support of everyone around him. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

“He’s not happy that it’s Malfoy of all people. But George is fairly understanding as well these days—the War has made him mature more than you could have ever thought. Honestly, Ron is going to be the only one that is going to have a problem…but maybe you won’t even be with Malfoy by the time Harry and Ron come back…” Ginny pointed out.

Hermione nodded in agreement. With Malfoy’s fluctuations in mood, he could wake up and walk out of her life tomorrow. She needed to learn to take it one day at a time with him—don’t hope for a future with him that may never come.  
“So,” Ginny grinned evilly, looking back toward her friend. “Are you going to have sex with him?”

Hermione flushed and shrugged. “I don’t know, honestly. Perhaps if we make things official.”

“Do you want to?” the redhead pressed, eager for every sordid detail of Hermione’s desires.

The brunette bit her lip. “Yes.”

Ginny squealed once more and laughed. “Can you imagine what it will be like if he kisses the way you say he does? Merlin…you won’t be able to walk for days!”

Hermione felt her heart thud at the thought. She was blushing furiously, still not entirely comfortable with this conversation and because she was actually giving some thought to it. “Ginny,” Hermione groaned. “Let’s talk about something else—anything else.”

o-o-o

Hermione Apparated to an alleyway around the corner from the Bed and Breakfast and then walked to her destination. She slipped into the room and saw that Malfoy was lying on the bed on his side, his eyes closed and breath slow. She fought the urge to go and touch him and resigned herself to showering before Theo’s dinner. Hermione pulled out a simple purple sweater dress and her underclothes and stockings and laid them out on the bed. Hopefully she could dress before he woke, considering the bedroom had more space to maneuver than the cramped bathroom.

She stood in front of the mirror, looking over her own naked form. She lifted her piles of hair up and studied her figure: small, but proportional and perky breasts; a narrow waist with soft curves into her hips, flowing into her supple thighs; dainty collarbones and a slender neck, marred by Malfoy’s love bites; a deep scar on her shoulder from Dolohov’s strange curse in fifth year; heart-shaped face, lightly spotted with a splash of freckles across her nose; lips that sported a perfect Cupid’s bow, but a bottom lip that could stand to be fuller; large, doe-like eyes—an obnoxious shade of ordinary brown. She dropped her hair and it fell like a mane around her face—no longer frizzy, per se, but bushy and thick with soft curls. Overall, not a horrible appearance, but paled in comparison to what she was sure rested under Malfoy’s clothes.

She showered quickly, trying to make as little noise as possible. When she was wrapped securely in her towel she peered around the bathroom door. Malfoy was still lying in the exact same position as when she’d went into the bathroom. Hermione whispered his name—nothing. She felt safe that he was in fact sleeping and so dropped her towel to dress quickly. Every so often, she would feel as though someone was watching her and would look at Malfoy, still sleeping. She pulled on her sensible cotton panties and she could have sworn she heard a sharp intake of breath. Hermione narrowed her eyes at his sleeping form while she pulled on her strapless bra. He hadn’t budged an inch. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled up her stockings—also a soft material but only thigh high in a dark grey color. Upon looking up, she could have sworn she saw his eyelids flutter. Her heart started to beat faster. She stood and pulled her sweater dress over her head and down over her form, spending an extra moment to straighten it.

Hermione tiptoed to where Malfoy lay and leaned over him to whisper in his ear. “Enjoy the show?”

The corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly and she swatted his arm. “You incorrigible prat! You were awake the whole time!”

He let out a tired laugh, throaty with sleep. “Not the whole time…But I did come around about the time you pulled on those pink lil numbers…” he grinned, referring to her knickers.

“Malfoy, that’s voyeuristic!” she argued, only half-heartedly, secretly thrilled that he had glanced over every part she had been so deeply scrutinizing only a few minutes before.

“So was listening to me have sex with Astoria, but that never stopped you,” he challenged.

Hermione flushed and turned around, trying to hide her embarrassment. He sat up and tugged on her wrist. “It’s okay, Granger…you were curious…can’t sat I blame you. I’d want to know what actual fulfilling sex sounded like, too, if my only sexual experience was with Weasley.”

“Draco,” she warned.

“I’m just saying,” he said, putting his two hands up in surrender.

This day was one mortifying discussion about sex after another. Surely it would get better when they went to Theo’s? “How did things go with the Weasleys?” he asked, studying his nails as though he wasn’t at all interested.

Hermione knew better—his jealousy was eating him up. “Fine. They were all…surprisingly okay.”

“Even the twin?” Malfoy asked, looking up at her.

“Not at first, but he took a moment to gather himself. You may be put-out to know that if you put, and I quote, ‘one toe out of line’ you will have all of the Weasley sons beating your skull in.”

Malfoy laughed at that. “That’s hardly necessary.”

“Angelina Johnson owled George a few times and Ginny says Arthur talked to him about Ron and I and why it wouldn’t be wise to pursue that avenue…”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows at Angelina’s name. “Hey, not bad. Go George.” His mood was lifting ever so slightly.

“How about with your mother?” Hermione asked.

“I was there all of twenty minutes. Told her to owl me when she was ready to accept change,” he shrugged, but Hermione could see the underlying hurt in his eyes.  
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and pinched the bridge of his nose. She leaned into his legs and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it out of place. He sighed. “And I’ve got this massive headache and no first aid potions with me.”  
Hermione put a finger up and crossed the room. She retrieved two tablets from her purse and conjured a cup of water. “Here, take these.”

He eyed her hand warily. “I don’t think so.”

She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Malfoy. If I were going to kill you, I wouldn’t do it before you’ve showed me my surprise tonight.”

He smiled at the thought and held his hand out. She dropped the medication into his hand. “Swallow them whole, don’t chew. Give it an hour and your headache should be better.”

He eyed the two brown tablets once more then tossed them into his mouth, taking a swig of water to wash them down. He set the glass on the nightstand and grabbed her hips, pulling her toward him. His face was even with her belly as he sat on the low bed and leaned forward to put his forehead against the soft fabric of her dress. “She’ll come around,” she whispered to him, hoping to be reassuring.

He leaned his lips forward and kissed her stomach before he pulled back. “I hope so.”

Malfoy cleared his throat and stood. “Bring your new coat. We’ll leave from Theo’s.”

“Where are we going?” she asked curiously.

He sighed impatiently. “You like Christmas lights, right? Well, I know where we can go watch some. I think you’ll like it.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. He was taking her to look at Christmas lights…perhaps a walk through Muggle neighborhoods? She shuddered to think about how he came to navigate around Muggle neighborhoods—during Death Eater revels. She had to stifle down her disappointment in his surprise and force a smile. “Okay…”

“I still need to give you your gift, don’t I?” he asked, her gift forgotten during the first half of their day.

“You got me something?” she asked.

“Well…I didn’t buy it,” he said, suddenly self-conscious.

Hermione grinned and bit her lip. She went to her own cedar chest and pulled out a package. “I didn’t buy yours either.”

He retrieved a small box and handed it to her, exchanging it for his own gift. “Open it,” he instructed.

Hermione took the top off the box and looked inside. There were two ancient looking books and upon pulling them out, she realized they were from his private library and written in a language she didn’t recognize. “It was my favorite book as a child,” he explained, opening the thicker of the two books and showing her roughly drawn pictures. “And this one is the translation key. Ancient elvish.”

“What’s it about?” she asked curiously.

He raised an eyebrow. “A dragon tamer, of course. And his faithful side-kick, a dragon named Pergo.”

She let out a laugh and was eager to begin translating it so she could read it. It had been his favorite, so it meant something to him. She stared at the book and she felt her heart swell. He was sharing a piece of himself, of his past, with her willingly. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t actually buy anything…I just thought you’d enjoy this more…I know you love a good challenge and a good book…”

Hermione looked up at him as he muttered through his statement and then placed one finger over his lips to silence him. “I love it…I’m just thrilled you’re sharing this with me.”

He looked at her oddly, as though she were strange to get so sentimental over a hand-me-down gift. She kissed his cheek and gestured toward his own package. “Open.”

He opened the thin box to reveal a hand-knit scarf in regulation Wulfric House colors. He touched the fabric and she bit her lip. “It’s mainly for Quidditch practice…the threads are imbued with warming charms, sticking charms and…protection charms…if you ever fall off your broom, the scarf will float you down.”

He smiled widely. “So you were knitting me a scarf long before you and I decided to start talking? That was a little presumptive, Granger,” he mockingly admonished.

She blushed as she thought about the fact that she had, in fact, worked on that scarf long before they had started this weird vacation together. He wrapped the scarf around him and could feel it hug itself closer to his neck. She stowed the books away in her cedar chest and held her hand out. “Let’s get to Theo’s now.”

Malfoy took her hand and a second later they were standing outside of Nott Manor. Hermione looked around before the door was opened. Nott Manor was not nearly as large as Malfoy Manor, but it was dark and menacing in its own way. Theo himself answered the door to greet them. “Hermione!” he leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

He pulled away from her and eyed Malfoy for a moment before pulling him into a brotherly hug. He kissed him obnoxiously on the cheek. Malfoy rolled his eyes and laughed. “Nott.”

“Come on in, Fets and Mims are setting the food out on the table now,” Theo said, turning around and waving a hand over his shoulder, beckoning them in.

The inside of Nott Manor was equally as dark as the outside. Malfoy Manor had been ostentatiously rich, with gold leaf and chandeliers. Nott Manor was rich, yes, but in dark woods and heavy wallpapers. The home was completely devoid of all feeling and personality.

They walked around the corner into the dining hall. There were already other people sitting around one end of the long table, two tiny house elves laying out a spread of holiday food. “You are the last ones to arrive—we didn’t think you were coming!”

“It’s only three-thirty, Nott!” Malfoy pointed out. “You said dinner was at four.”

Hermione looked around the table. Theo’s chair was empty next to Daphne Greengrass, Astoria and who must have been Michele, Blaise and a girl Hermione did not recognize. “Daphne. Astoria, as you know, and her main squeeze, Michele. You know Blaise. And this is Michele’s roommate, Rosalee. Everyone, this is Draco and Hermione,” Theo got all of the introductions out of the way.

Hermione noticed the two house elves were wearing tiny dresses and patent leather shoes and smiled to herself. Theo had rolled his eyes when she spoke of elves’ rights, but clearly he listened. He turned to Draco. “And I’m sure you want to see Eugene?”

Malfoy’s eyes lit up. “Of course, where is he?”

“Study,” Theo told him, sliding into his chair next to Daphne.

Malfoy grabbed Hermione’s hand and led her into a small room lined with bookshelves and burgundy wallpaper, two black leather couches and a dark mahogany coffee table sat in the middle. Eugene had his own terrarium off to one side and Malfoy crossed to him immediately. “Gene! How you doin’, little buddy? Is Uncle Theo taking good are of you?” he cooed to the tiny dragon and the dragon roared a burst of excited fire at seeing his Master.

He scooped him out of the tank and placed him on his shoulder. The dragon nuzzled his neck and Draco scratched along his neck. “Are you hungry?” he asked the miniscura.

He leaned down so Hermione could give Eugene an affectionate scratch along his spine and they walked out into the dining room. Malfoy pulled out a chair for Hermione and then quickly sat next to her. “So, what’s on the agenda for this evening, Nott?”

Theo looked falsely taken aback. “I don’t know what you mean, Malfoy. We’re just going to have a nice meal.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “It’s never just a meal…I know you’ve got some plan to get completely shitfaced tonight.”

Theo grinned widely. “Daphne and I have spent the better part of the afternoon filling in prompt slips for a rousing game of ‘Never Have I Ever.’”

Malfoy groaned and Hermione bit her lip. She knew the basics of what the game entailed. “I don’t think that’s wise,” he said, a sideways glance in Hermione’s direction.

Hermione glared at him. “It will be fine, Malfoy. It’s not like anything written on those slips isn’t something I haven’t ever heard before.”

“Yes, but some of us may not be as experienced as others—it could lead to uncomfortable positions,” Draco protested.

He exchanged a look with Theo, who grinned. “You heard her—she’s game.”

The two house elves finished serving up the dinner plates and pouring everyone a healthy serving of elf wine. Hermione looked around and realized she was in a proverbial snake pit—everyone here was in Slytherin or, in Michele and Rosalee’s cases, probably could be. She began to feel slightly uneasy. Conversation kept pretty well away from her, with the two Beauxbatons girls taking up much of the discussion. Theo was playing with Daphne’s curls, but his gaze was fully on Rosalee as well as he leaned back and listened to her tell of France. Draco told stories of the hijinks he, Blaise and Theo had gotten up to as children, with the pair interjecting periodically. When he wasn’t speaking, he was feeding roast to Eugene from the palm of his hand. Hermione was grateful that no one discussed the War, and figured the people here had the good sense not to drag up painful memories at Christmas dinner. Unlike her Christmas breakfast at the Weasleys. Be kind…he lost his twin, she had to remind herself.

At one point, Theo leaned into Malfoy and whispered, concern evident on his face. “Are you having headaches again?”

Hermione furrowed her brow. Were these headaches something that regularly happened to Malfoy? How could Theo possibly know that he was having a headache—Malfoy had been stoic since they’d arrived. Were they after affects of the Cruciatus Curse?

Malfoy looked at her out of the corner of his eye and she looked down at her plate, trying not to be so evident that she was eavesdropping on their conversation, wanting to know the answer to Theo’s question. She saw Malfoy nod once in affirmation.

“I’ll have Longbottom prepare the cabbages to lure the beetles,” Theo whispered back and then he sat upright.

Hermione stowed this conversation away for later, curious to know what they were talking about.

Finally, after courses of salad, bread, roast and potatoes with beans and carrots and a final helping of a chocolate silk pie, everyone was happily sated and they moved into the drawing room. Theo crossed the room and pulled a small vile from one of the curio cabinets. He turned around, an evil grin on his face. “Veritas momento. Not quite as strong as Veritaserum, but still pretty useful. I think we should all get started by drinking a drop? That way no one can lie.”

“How very Slytherin,” Hermione grumbled.

Blaise let out a laugh. “Theodore…you’re never one to do things half-assed, are you?”

Theo’s grin spread further as Malfoy pursed his lips. “Is this really necessary?”

“Why?” Theo challenged, “Afraid Granger might learn something shocking about you?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Hardly.”

Hermione spoke up. “Really, it’s fine,” she lowered her voice, “at least we both know I won’t be sloshed tonight.”

“I might be,” he admitted. “I’m sure Theo’s got pepper-up here somewhere…I want to be alert for tonight.”

Nott nodded and winked at Hermione. “Excellent.”

Hermione winced as she went to sit on the floor in the circle everyone else was already forming. Theo placed tumblers in front of them each and a large bottle of a dark amber liquid. “My father’s. Norbert’s Finest Whiskey, circa 1847. This will make hair grow on your chest.”

He uncorked the vial of veritas momento and used a dropper to retrieve a single drop. He opened his mouth and placed the drop under his tongue, wincing as he did so at the bitter taste. He passed it next to Daphne and then everyone around the circle had done it. Hermione’s heart was beating. Everyone in this room was about to find out how sexually incompetent she was. She groaned inwardly—this whole day had been one gigantically embarrassing day. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

She nodded. “It’s not that big a deal. Just remind me to poison Nott’s pumpkin juice with a laxative potion when we get back to school.”

Malfoy laughed and Theo placed a velvet bag in the middle of the circle with the liquor. “We wrote prompts and placed them in this bag…that way you weren’t put on the spot to think of something. Just take one and read it. If you have done the activity described, take a drink. A small drink—there’s a lot of questions. ‘Mione, why don’t you go first?”

Hermione steadied her hand as she reached for the bag. Why was she so bloody nervous? It was a harmless party game. Because Malfoy will know how inept you are. She retrieved a slip. “Never have I ever sexually fantasized about a teacher.”  
To her surprise, she had done this, Because of the effects of the truth potion, she felt compelled to fill her tumbler. She reached for the bottle and poured a small amount for herself and then into Blaise and Rosalee’s glasses. They threw the liquid back and Hermione winced again. Malfoy was looking at her with intrigue. She shrugged. “It was Snape wasn’t it?” Theo asked with a barking laugh.

“Lockhart,” Hermione corrected, laughing as well.

“Lockhart…Granger…you were twelve,” Malfoy said incredulously.

“Yes…well…I can’t lie…” she stuttered.

Malfoy took the velvet bag and pulled a slip, a smile still on his lips. “Really Nott?” he sighed. “Never have I ever given oral.”

He grabbed the bottle and poured some and everyone around the circle put their glasses forth and knocked back a sip. He looked curiously at Hermione who shrugged. The look of disgusted jealousy that flashed over his eyes wasn’t hard to miss. Blaise drew next. “Never have I ever received oral. Fantastic follow up piece, Nott. Who in their right mind would give but not receive?”

Everyone held their glasses forward. Everyone except Hermione. Malfoy studied her once more. “Weasley actually greedily received but didn’t reciprocate?” he whispered, feigning shock. “What an arsehole.”

Hermione blushed furiously and Theo laughed. “Malfoy…take care of that for her would you?” he was already getting tipsy.

Malfoy glared at his friend. “Don’t talk about her like that, Nott.”

Theo winked at Hermione. “She knows I’m only playing.”

He took a slip of paper from the emerald velvet bag. “Never have I ever had sex outside of the bedroom.”

Everyone put their glasses forward and Hermione sighed in relief. “Excellent,” Astoria grinned.

Malfoy shot her a glare and Hermione had a feeling this whole game was meant to pry information out of her. She was getting paranoid. “Where?” Malfoy mouthed to Hermione as Daphne drew a slip.  
“Shower,” she shrugged, remembering her one messy and disastrous attempt at shower sex with Ron.

He looked almost impressed. Daphne spoke. “Never have I ever had a threesome…or more…”

Astoria, Daphne, Theo, Blaise and Michele all drank. Theo eyed Rosalee. “Daph and I’ve got your back, love,” he told her with a wink.

Hermione looked at Malfoy, who stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned on the palms of his hands, Eugene on his knee. “It’s all elbows and arses. I told you…I’m a one witch man. I enjoy worshipping a woman’s body the way she deserves,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

Worshipping a woman’s body the way she deserves. Hermione felt a shudder wave through her. They went through six more questions—“Never have I ever had sex in public…had sex in an empty classroom…had sex from behind…gotten off on pain…participated in bondage of some kind…” Malfoy drank for all six (everyone else did), Hermione drank for only one more—“Never have I ever masturbated to pornographic material.”

When Blaise put his hand in to draw another slip, Malfoy put his hand up. “I think I’m done. I’m taking Granger somewhere to celebrate Christmas and I want to be…well, upright.”

“I’m sure after hearing of your sexual prowess and adventures, she’d much prefer you horizontal,” Theo said, slurring slightly. “But you’re right…Astoria, show Blaise where he’ll be staying. You know where you and Michele are. Rosalee…why don’t you join Daph and I in my room?” he asked with a wink and Daphne extended her hand, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Hermione widened her eyes at their brazen display of sexuality. She thought of the sweet Theodore Nott she had become so close to over the last few months. She’d been so close to being Daphne…it could be her expected to participate with Theo and Rosalee…she shivered and thought about how different he and Malfoy were, though they were thick as thieves.

She stood with Malfoy and, upon feeling a little lightheaded, steadied herself against his chest. “Let’s get out of here before we get sucked into some weird Slytherin orgy,” she laughed at her own joke, the strong liquor making her feel unusually warm.

He reached out and clapped Theo on the shoulder. “This has been…riveting to say the least. Remind me next time to ask you what you’ve got planned before I accept an invitation.”

Hermione leaned in and kissed Theo on the cheek. “Watch yourself when we get back to school…it would be unfortunate if I put some balding cream into your pomade.”

Theo laughed wrapped his arm around Hermione’s shoulders walking the pair out. “You’ve got a little Slytherin in you after all…perhaps later you can have his little Slytherin in you…”

She swatted him and felt her face flush a violent shade of crimson. For his part, Malfoy was also blushing furiously, holding Eugene up to his mouth to give him a kiss before placing him back in his terrarium. “Nott…you have the subtlety of a mermaid on land.”

Theo laughed once more and held out Hermione’s coat for her to slip on. Malfoy watched their interaction carefully, she noticed through her hazy brain. “The pepper-up?” she reminded them.

Theo produced a small vial from his back pocket. “Split this…you’re not hammered. Should dissipate within the hour. And Granger?” he asked sweetly.

She narrowed her eyes at him and he grinned widely. “Put a balding cream in my hair potion and I my hand might accidentally tip a little of one of Draco’s aphrodisiac potions into your morning tea. I know you’re not having sex yet, but don’t mess with me, or you may find yourself in a precarious situation before you’ve had time to realize you’re naked.”

Malfoy pushed his friend’s chest away and stepped between Hermione and Theo. “That’s enough of that. We aren’t officially courting yet, Nott. We’d appreciate some subtlety when we get back to school. Until we’re ready to announce our courtship.”

Theo got serious for a moment, regarding his two friends. “Of course. But Malfoy, if you hurt her, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. All of the men in her life were just waiting for Malfoy to hurt her…but then again…wasn’t she?

o-o-o


	7. Chapter 23

Draco and Granger stood just outside of the wards of Nott Manor and shared the pepper-up potion. The lightly tipsy feeling he had quickly started to rise and he was grateful. “Well,” Granger started, cringing from the taste of the potion, “That was certainly interesting conversation for after Christmas Dinner.”

Draco shrugged, trying to expel the images of Hermione and Weasley engaging in shower sex or her pretty little mouth wrapped around that gangly redheaded idiot. He welcomed the thought of her touching herself to pornographic material and silently wondered what kind of material it had been. “Nott is nothing if not obtuse and straight-forward.”

“At least regarding his sexuality. He and Daphne…”

“Are brazen as hell?” he finished for her with a laugh.

“That’s one way to put it…I never knew,” Granger laughed as he took her hand and they strolled a little way in the snowfall.

“You wouldn’t have much of an occasion to have garnered that particular piece of his personality, would you? Well…how about we get going? It’s nearly time now,” he said, raising an eyebrow and glancing up at the inky sky.

She nodded and he thought for a moment she looked…disappointed? Nervous? He wrinkled his brow but said nothing as he closed his eyes and Apparated them. She looked around them and appeared more and more confused by the second. “I thought we were going to look at Christmas lights?” she said hollowly.

He let out a barking laugh. “What did you think, we were leisurely going to take a stroll through some Muggle neighborhoods?”

She seemed to be embarrassed and he knew instantly that he was right. “Oh, Granger…This is so much better.”

“Where are we?” she asked.

Draco looked around. They were standing in a large field facing the old, dilapidated ruins of what appeared to be a home. The home had sustained significant damage from a fire and was nothing more than a charred mass. Off to one side there was a line of darkened trees, a dense forest thicker than the Forbidden Forest. He could hear the choppy waves of the bay just beyond the trees and smell the salt in the air. “Thurso, Caithness, Scotland.”

He looked over at Granger as she lifted an eyebrow, not comprehending. “That house once belonged to the Black family. The Dark Lord burned it to the ground when my father failed to obtain the prophecy in fifth year. This was my mother’s punishment. And of course, we know mine,” he touched his left wrist.

He was silent for a moment, clenching and unclenching his jaw. “But before that, it was a getaway home for us. When my father was away on business, my mother would often bring me here. Theo, too.”

He took Granger’s hand and cast a warming spell over the two of them, the alcohol dissipating enough to leave him cold. “There are a lot of good memories in this home. Probably more so than there could ever be at the Manor. But I didn’t bring you here to stand at the burned ruins of my childhood. Come with me,” he said, his sadness turning to excitement.

Granger held onto his hand, the sea air causing her hair to curl and frizz around her face. They walked in the direction of the woods and she bit her lip. “Relax, Granger. We’re safe here. There isn’t another person around for miles. Except, perhaps in the lighthouse.”

“Lighthouse?” she asked peering around at nothing but open farmland and rolling meadows.

“Through there,” he replied, pointing at the forest. “Come with me and be careful to watch your step.

They reached the wooded area quickly and then spent minutes navigating through the thick moss and underlying shrubbery. Granger nearly tripped twice, but each time he tossed his arm out to lazily catch her, his Seeker’s reflexes still as agile as ever.

o-o-o

Hermione still had no idea where he was taking her or why. He held his lit wand high, casting a bluish glow over the wooded area but it was awfully treacherous climbing and she was beginning to feel more irritated with him than excited. Just as she opened her mouth to say something, they reached the edge of the wooded area by the bay and she froze.

Ahead of her was a large body of water, the surface choppy in the windy cold night. The moon was a pale sliver ahead of them and cast just enough light to show everything eerily. The stars twinkled pleasantly against their black backdrop. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such captivating darkness in her life. There was a lighthouse by the water, its light spinning lazily. The ground before them appeared to drop off a small cliff.

He pulled his bag from his shoulder and cast a cushioning charm on the ground around them. He put a warm dome up around them, melting the snow flurries before they could reach them and retrieved a blanket from his bag. He spread it out over the ground and gestured for her to sit. Hermione complied, still eyeing the sight before her in wonder. “It’s beautiful!” she told him.

“The show hasn’t even begun, yet, Granger,” he told her, retrieving a carafe of hot chocolate for them to share.

“What do you mean?” she asked, looking over at his silvery features in the moonlight.

“You’ll see. Be patient…it’ll be beginning soon,” he said, stretching out once more and putting an arm around her shoulders.

Hermione wondered what he was talking about, but leaned into him. “What was that talk of headaches at the dinner table?” she asked, her mind still focused on the strange inflection Theo had had in his voice when he asked about them.

Malfoy looked at her from the corner of his eye. “You caught that?”

She raised an eyebrow and he sighed. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing. Sounds like this happens often,” she said, putting her hand on his thigh.

He pursed his lips. “I’ve had headaches periodically…my whole life, really.”

“What causes them?” she asked, worried about his physical health.

He stared straight ahead and shrugged one shoulder noncommittally. “I’ve never gone to a Healer to find out.”

Hermione clamped her mouth shut but said nothing else. Why did he have headaches? Why was he being so strange about it? So secretive? “Tell me, Granger, what are you planning to do when you leave Hogwarts?” he asked, trying to change the subject, but his tone genuinely curious.

She thought about it for a moment. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t given it any thought—she’d thought about it every day. But she couldn’t settle on any one thing. All she knew is that she wanted to help magical creatures and so she sighed heavily. “Honestly? I have no idea. I know I want to give a voice to those who can’t or normally don’t speak for themselves.”

“Ah. Spew,” he laughed.

Hermione jabbed her elbow into him and chuckled. “Well, what about you?” she asked. “What are your big plans?”

Malfoy was silent for a brief moment and he looked out over the bay, thoughts swimming behind his icy grey eyes. “I’m getting the hell away from here. Far away.”

Hermione felt an inexplicable panic wash over her. They’d only just started getting close and now all of a sudden he was planning on leaving? “And going where?”

He looked down at their thighs pressed against one another, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “I’m not sure yet…I thought about America.”

“America?” she asked incredulously.

He laughed at her tone. “Michele did an exchange program in America, New Orleans to be exact. Over the summer, she told us all about it and it sounds…Amazing. It’s a place seeped in rich magical culture, filled with Muggles and magical people who would be hard pressed to recognize me so easily. Not to mention, if there is one thing in this world that my father hated more than Muggles, it is Americans. Says their arrogant, partake in a little too much mindless self-indulgence and ‘lack finess.’. So, nothing would please me more than to piss off my parents once more.”

Hermione felt uneasy. “And what is in New Orleans for you?” she asked, trying to keep the trepidation from her voice.

“One of the finest mortuary schools in the world,” he said, smiling fondly.

“Mortuary school? You mean like coffins and dead bodies, mortuary?” she asked, bewildered.

He let out a barking laugh at the look on her face. “I don’t know of any other kind.”

“But…you…your nightmares…that would only fuel the fire,” she tried to argue, opposed to the very idea of him leaving the country and effectively, leaving her.

“My nightmares are about people I had a hand in killing, however indirectly,” he added the last part, frowning at the bitter taste left in his mouth. “But I’ve always been fascinated by death and death lore. Did you know there is only one magical mortician in the UK? One. And he’s about 115 years old.”

“But…how are you going to learn…all that? Surely not a magical university.”

“Muggles,” he shrugged. “I’ve studied funerary practices from thousands of years from all over the world. Muggles have honed in on this. But, imagine if I could incorporate spells and potions into the work of a mortician.”  
She stared at him in abject horror. “Draco Malfoy, I hope you aren’t talking about toying with necromancy…that’s evil, even by a Death Eater’s standards.”

He removed his arm from her shoulders and looked at her with a hurt look evident in the pale moonlight. “I didn’t realized you still lumped me in with them,” he replied curtly.

She bristled at his tone. “I don’t…I just meant…you’ve been exposed to a lot of evil in your life…that would take the cake as far as complex Dark magic.”

He rolled his eyes. “Relax, Granger. I have no desire to create Inferi. I’m talking more about…long term preservation.”

“I don’t understand,” she replied.

“I don’t expect you to,” he countered and sighed. “You asked what I had thought of doing. Well…that’s it.”

She furrowed her brow. That first day that Malfoy had bested her in class, he’d answered questions about the Egyptian Book of the Dead. Perhaps he was interested in death…she didn’t see the appeal. Malfoy looked at Hermione from the corner of his eye once more. “If we get serious…would you come with me?” he asked sincerely.

She was silent as she thought. Would she? By then, she’ll have brought her parents back, hopefully. And he hadn’t said for how long he’d be gone. She had no desire to permanently uproot her life to move to another country any time soon. She was just learning to navigate the Wizarding world after nine years. “How long?”

“A year…maybe eighteen months,” he replied.

She bit her lip. “I don’t know.”

“I’m not asking you to come. I’m asking if you would,” he prodded.

“I’m not sure…maybe…if we were properly in love by then,” she finally commented.

“If we’re properly in love by then,” he repeated, smiling widely at the thought. “We’ll be properly in love long before then.”

Hermione relished his confident tone. “Will we?” she asked, leaning into him.

“Of course,” he brushed her hair over her shoulder, licking the love bites he’d left that morning. He skimmed his nose over her bare neck, causing shivers down her spine. “I want that,” he whispered into her skin.  
Just as he spoke, a flash of color caught their eyes. “Look, look,” he pulled away from her and pointed up at sky.

Hermione stared at the sky, which was alight with bright green rivers of color, tipped with light purple, flowing and dancing in sinewy tributaries. She’d only ever seen photos of the Aurora Borealis, but seeing it in person was absolutely breathtaking.

“Na Fir Chlis. The merry dancers,” Malfoy said. “My mother always told me it was millions of arctic fairies dancing in the night sky. I don’t know what causes it…but watch around us,” he was still whispering, his voice barely audible over the crashing waves of the bay.

Hermione knew exactly what caused it, but she didn’t want to spoil the magic of the moment with talk of gases and magnetic fields. As she stared at the night sky, she became acutely aware of balls of light around them. She turned and looked over her shoulder at the shrubs and trees all around them. There were little spheres of light, brilliant shades of green, blue, pink and purple to match the show above them. “Arctic fairies,” he replied, smiling widely at the childlike look of wonder on her face.

“Draco…it’s…magnificent,” she was at a loss of words.

To think, earlier that afternoon she’d been disappointed when he had told her he was taking her to see Christmas lights. She couldn’t remember having ever seen anything so breathtaking and majestic in her life. “Was this a good surprise?” he asked, chuckling throatily, turning to face her, his legs bent in front of him touching his knees to hers.

“Yes! I never want to leave!” she told him, taking in the thousands of fairy lights around them.

She looked back at Malfoy’s face, flashing shades of green and purple as the reflection from the Aurora danced across his face. He was an ethereal shade of silver all over—his pale skin, his white blond hair and icy grey eyes. She was struck then with his beauty. Draco Malfoy was many things—sexy, handsome, clean-cut. But, for the first time, staring at his angular strong features, she saw that he was truly beautiful. He raised an eyebrow at her questioningly and the corners of his mouth tugged upward. “Malfoy…you’re…glowing…beautiful…” she whispered, placing a hand on his jaw.

He let out a breathy laugh. “How masculine.”

She placed a finger over his lips and replaced it with her own. He leaned forward, lacing one hand into her hair, his other on her knee. He attempted to quicken the kiss, but she placed her hand on his chest and pressed lightly in a way that told him to take it slow. She pulled back and ran her knuckles over his smooth face, tracing his lips with one finger. She ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it back, secretly thrilled that he’d left the product out of it and she was able to feel the full, fluffy softness of it. It was almost pearly as it stuck up between her lightly bronzed fingers and she was enthralled by the stark contrast between their two tones. She looked into his eyes—arctic, glacial, resplendent. The smile had fallen from his face and his eyebrows dipped ever so slightly in between. Hermione watched his Adam’s apple bob slowly as he swallowed.

Hermione didn’t know what had shifted in the atmosphere between them, but she was sure he felt it, too. He was staring at her with an intensity she’d never felt before, as though he could see her soul. She stared back, hoping to convey the same intensity. She unbuttoned the top button of her coat and undid the first button on his coat. Hermione took his hand and pulled the neck of her dress aside, placing his hand on her bare chest so he could feel her heart, her bra barely masking the soft swell of her flesh. She held one hand over his as she brought her other hand between two buttons of his shirt to rest on his heart. “Draco…” her voice was so low, she wasn’t sure she’d spoken out loud.  
“I know, Granger,” he responded with another swallow.

She was remotely aware that he had a hand hovering over her heart, his fingertips resting on her breast. But in that moment, she didn’t feel sexual. She was fascinated at the feel of his magic, coursing through his veins, throbbing in the chambers of his heart as it pumped blood through. It matched her own, she knew—she could hear her own heart beating rapidly behind her eardrums.

She’d always thought those Muggle stories she’d heard of someone’s heart beating with your own were corny—whimsies of a love sick mind. But she knew instinctually, as she stared into his face, that his would match her own. The northern lights were creating a strong magnetically magical field, buzzing pleasantly between them. Hermione had no idea what it meant, but they both seemed to sense that it was telling, important.

Malfoy moved to kneel on his knees and Hermione did the same, neither losing the other’s hand in the process. The sat back on their haunches and he placed a hand in the back of her neck, gently pulling her in and brushing his lips to hers. He unbuttoned his shirt with one hand, pulling the toggles at the top of her sweater dress free to expose the tops of her breasts in the reflection of the lights. He didn’t look down from her eyes, too mesmerized by the odd magnetism in the air. He then pulled her close, moving his hand from between them and pressing his bare chest to hers. She slid her hands up and over his shoulders, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, under the open collar of his shirt. Malfoy snaked his hands under her coat and around her back. “What is it doing to us?” she asked, whispering.

He shook his head one unintelligible time. “I have no idea…I’ve never brought anyone else here.”

The fairies in the bushes began to hum pleasantly into the still air, creating a vibration around them that Hermione could feel in her teeth, rattling her cognitive abilities. She brought her face to rest in the crook of his neck and inhaled his signature Malfoy scent, brushing her lips across his collarbone. They knelt like that for a long while, his cheek nestled into the top of her head, the lights dancing above them and the fairies soft glow illuminating and then dying in short bursts.  
Malfoy pulled away and pushed the toggle through the loop of her sweater, knowing it would be improper to let her linger bare. He reached behind him and pulled another blanket from his bag. “Would you like to stay here, under the lights tonight?”

“I never want to leave this spot,” she replied, feeling the energy still humming through her chest.

She removed the coat from her shoulders, Malfoy’s warming dome more than sufficient to keep the cold away, and bundled it up to rest under her head. He followed suit and lied back, extending his arm so she could nuzzle into his bare chest. She listened to his heartbeat, felt his magic mixing with the energy in the air and smiled. “Not bad for a first date.”

Malfoy hummed his questioning. Hermione bit her lip, her own heart beating a quick tattoo in her chest. Her voice cracked when she spoke. “I want to begin courting.”

He was silent for a beat. “Courting implies dating with the intent of marriage one day.”

She brought a hand up to trace over his Sectumsempra scar. “Let’s take it one day at a time. But I think it’s ridiculous to keep dancing around the issue. We both know where this is going…”

“Hell, the ‘merry dancers’ know where this is going,” he replied with a low rumbling laugh in his chest.

She laughed with him and he pressed her closer to himself before he spoke. “I feel it necessary to warn you once more that this is probably a poor decision on your part and that I will probably end up hurting you. All of your friends…hell all of my friends expect me to screw this up royally.”

Hermione brushed her lips against his bare skin. “I’ll take my chances…you’re worth taking a chance on.”

They fell silent as they watched the show above them, the shades of emerald, cobalt and lavender lulling them into a comfortable slumber, the fairies humming a sweet lullaby around them.

o-o-o


	8. Chapter 24

“Please don’t kill me!” the Muggle girl begged, pleading naked on her hands and knees, for Bellatrix Lestrange to spare her life.

Draco stood behind his aunt, who had her wand outstretched, and Fenrir Greyback, who was dripping with the girl’s blood, lazily buckling his pants back. Draco felt sick to his stomach, a metallic hatred rising in his throat for the two people before him. He silently begged for his aunt to just get it over with, to stop prolonging the girl’s suffering. Greyback had already done a number on the girl’s fragile body. He couldn’t bring himself to look in the girl’s direction, lest they make eye contact. He’d tried to spare her…he really had…

There was a flash of emerald light from Bellatrix’s wand and she stepped over the limp body, practically skipping back to the Dark Lord. Greyback grabbed the girl’s hair in his fist and dragged her away and Draco shuddered violently at the thought of where he was taking the body.

\--

Draco woke with a start, flashes of green behind his eyelids. His eyes opened and he looked up at the colors still brilliantly dancing across the night sky. He took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves, feeling sweat prickle his brow. Granger was wrapped around him, her leg draped over his, resting between his own, her warm cheek still pressed against his bare chest in the opening of his shirt and her arm draped languidly across him. He could feel her soft breaths tickle his flesh.  
It was only a dream—a nightmare—and one he had experienced copious times before. The girl whose innocence he’d refused to steal but still ended up killing in the long run anyway…his wand or not. He could feel his heart hammering painfully in his chest and his breaths were slow to steady. Draco pulled Granger closer to himself involuntarily, as though her closeness could take away all of the regret, shame and anger he was feeling in that moment.

Draco tried to think of anything that could take his mind from his nightmare. So, naturally, his thoughts wandered to the witch in his arms. The way her skin had looked under the glow of the lights, the soft way her curls framed her face, the feel of her bare skin pressed against his own. When they’d been caught up in the moment, he hadn’t registered the half-naked state she was in. He’d simply done what was natural, gave in to the compulsion he’d felt.

Granger thought they should court…officially. He’d never wanted anything more in his life—or feared anything more in his life. Being a Death Eater hadn’t exactly come easy. He’d abhorred every last second of it and had succumbed to his cowardice on more than one occasion. But that was all shit compared to the prospect of falling in love with Granger. His fucked up past, his moody disposition, the demons that sat on his chest suffocating him at every turn—it was all enough to make him feel crazy. He couldn’t imagine dragging her into it as well.

He would do nothing but bring her to ruin, fuck her up beyond repair. His dark past may not dictate every single move he made, but it was certainly a shadow over his entire existence, one that begged to be noticed and stroked. Granger was pure, innocent, loving. His darkness would eat her alive and spit her out, tainted and bruised, her heart broken.

Draco felt a thickness at the back of his throat that threatened to choke him, asphyxiating him as though ropes pressed on his windpipe. He’d have to talk to her in the morning, tell her how wrong she was. Explain to her why it all needed to cease right then. The last three days had been wonderful, yes, but they needed to remain a blissful memory, never to be repeated. Once they got any further, she’d only end up hurt and hating him.

For now, he fought back an exasperated dry sob and nuzzled his face into her hair, knowing it would likely be the last time. Try as he might, he couldn’t find that inner peace he’d felt when they’d been pressed together not only a few hours before. All he felt was anguish and torment at the thought of losing her—losing her before he even really had her.

o-o-o

Hermione awoke at the break of dawn, bright pinks and oranges cutting through the sky above them. Malfoy’s breathing wasn’t slow and deep, but normal, indicating he was awake. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and lifted herself up to look at him. He looked upset, refusing to meet her eye. That was never a good sign. “What’s the matter?” she asked, tracing his face with her index finger.

He clenched his jaw under her fingertip and took a deep breath. Malfoy gently pushed her away from himself as he sat up to pull on his coat. “This was a mistake,’ he spat.

Hermione was bewildered. She had thought the night before was…well…magical, in the whimsical Muggle sense of the word. He’d brought her to a place he’d never brought anyone before—not even Pansy. He’d let her into a little sliver of his life, as he was doing day by day. They’d shared that strangely enchanting moment where their heartbeats had together become one with the Aurora. Then they’d slept under the stars, a perfect ending to a perfect night.

And now Malfoy was ruining everything. Like he always did. She pulled on her coat as well, his warming dome weaker than it had been the night before. Hermione frowned deeply and stood as he drew himself up as well. He began packing his blankets in his bag, shrinking them to fit. He looked like he was seething beneath the surface and his movements were sharp and agitated.

“Let’s just go back to the room. You stay there, since it’s paid up through the second. I’ll get my things and return to Hogwarts for the remainder of the holiday,” his voice was sharp and commanding, leaving little room for discussion.  
Hermione tried to think over the events that had transpired yesterday and she couldn’t think of a single incidence where this mood was warranted. The only bad thing to happen had been his meeting with his mother—but he’d still celebrated the rest of the holiday with her. She thought they’d agreed the night before to begin courting…he certainly hadn’t objected. She knew then that’s what this was all about. This was his attempt at objecting. He held his hand out and she grasped it, just long enough for him to Apparate them into their bedroom at the Bed and Breakfast.

He dropped her hand as though it burned him physically, placing a silencing charm on the door and she felt anger boil up inside of her. Malfoy moved quickly to gather his few items and she could feel her heart beginning to tear. She shouldn’t be this attached already—it’d only been three days…three fantastic days. Being this attached after only a few days was dangerous, even she could admit that. They’d said they’d only wanted to get to know each other more. Somehow that resulted in them hugging half-naked in a forest somewhere in Scotland.

She shook her head and reached out to encircle her hand around his wrist. “Will you stop for a minute and tell me what is going on? How we went from…last night to now?”

Malfoy refused to turn around and look at her, but his shoulders slumped forward in defeat. “I am not good for you, Granger. You seem to be the only one who can’t see that.”

“That’s a crock of shit, Malfoy, and you know it,” she told him vehemently, pulling his arm so forcefully he had no choice but to turn around.

He still refused to meet her gaze and she brought her hand to clasp around his jaw harshly, likely painfully. “What the hell has gotten into you?” she demanded, finally feeling explosively angry at his sullen, dreary mood and his need to run away.

“Are you fucking crazy, Granger? I’m an ex-Death Eater. I am so fucked up I can barely stand myself most days. Last night was…it was a mistake. This week’s been a mistake…this is dangerous,” he said, his teeth digging into his cheeks where her fingertips dug into him.

And then, Hermione did something that surprised even herself. She slapped him. Hard. Malfoy looked stunned for a moment, rubbing his hand over his reddening cheek, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

She backed away from him, partially appalled at what she’d done and partially satisfied that he was hurting physically if she had to hurt so much mentally. “You are an absolute arsehole! Why didn’t you just tell me ‘no’ last night? Better yet, why’d you even agree to accompany me on this holiday? I could have went with you as a friend to the ball and then spent the rest of my vacation at Hogwarts, studying for my N.E.W.T.‘s. But no. You came to my parents’ home; you lied about going with me to find them; you decorated a tree for me. You kissed me! Not once, but several times! And last night…last night you…we…” Hermione had to grab her heart because it was physically aching by this point, she was wound up so much.

Malfoy’s face softened momentarily as she began to cry, but he quickly replaced it with his trademark stony façade. He pushed passed her and went into the bathroom, slamming the door after him.

o-o-o

Draco was breathing shallow, labored breaths as he leaned over the sink basin in the bathroom. It was like sixth year all over again, the weight of the world crushing him from every angle. He smelled like her and he could scarcely breathe. He pulled his coat off and tossed it aside then turned the water on in the shower. He had to get her scent away from him if he wanted to remain sane enough to walk out that door.

He violently ripped his shirt up over his head and pushed his jeans and boxers down, kicking them aside so they smacked against the wall. Goddamit! He felt like he was slowly going mental. He leaned against the cool porcelain sink once more and tried breathing—in through the nose, out through the mouth.

Draco dragged his eyes up to look at himself in the mirror. What the fuck could Granger possibly see in him? He knew he was good-looking enough to catch a witch’s eye. His eyes raked over his appearance, bile rising in his throat. White blond hair that lacked product and was, as a result, fluffy and falling softly over his forehead, dangerously close to falling into his line of sight. He needed a haircut. He looked at his eyes in the reflection—a striking grey, flecked with blue that he’d always been proud of, never having met anyone outside of the Malfoy bloodline with grey eyes. His angular, aristocratic nose and sharp jawline that had once been pointy but was more or less now the best feature on his face, peppered with growth.

He allowed his eyes to travel farther south, hating every inch of milky skin he glanced over. His arms were sinewy and lean, not bulky but the muscle was ever present after years of Quidditch, veins running like tunnels just below the surface on his forearms. His chest, the spot where she’d held her hand the night before to feel his heartbeat, now burning, was strong with a small tuft of white blond hair. His ribs and his abdomen were hard, the muscle evident as it worked beneath the surface of his skin—not cut and angular, but with a small ‘V’ at his pelvis flanking a trail of white blond hair to match his chest. His waist was trim and thin, his frame lithe and agile.

Draco ran his fingers over his many scars, tracing a large circle around the cluster of Cruciatus circles. He ran his palm over the violet Sectumsempra scar that nearly cut his torso into two diagonal halves. He pulled away and looked down at his naked manhood—larger than average in both length and girth, but not horrifically, comically so. The stupid little prick was to blame for his insatiable attraction to Granger. Then he looked down his legs, muscular from clamping around a broom handle and peppered with the occasional scar—a large one across his knee where he’d fallen off his broom when he was eight and one on his inner thigh that he had initially worried Voldemort had aimed in such a way as to make him the last Malfoy.

Finally, Draco looked at the most abhorrent scar he had—the bright red skull and snake emblazoned on his left forearm, a shiny, burnt brand on his already marred flesh. The long scars that ran parallel to it were a painful reminder of yet another failure.

His long fingers gripped the sink harshly, his knuckles turning white. She wasn’t the kind of witch that fell for someone based solely on looks alone. He was a pitiful excuse for a man, for a wizard. He’d done so much wrong in his life, so much evil, caused so much pain. Granger’s first thought upon hearing he wanted to study mortuary sciences was to assume he planned on dabbling in Dark magic and producing Inferi of some kind. If that didn’t say it all, he didn’t know what did.  
The door clicked open behind him and Granger peeked her head in and flushed upon catching site of his naked backside. Her cheeks were tear-stained and she was gnawing cruelly at her lip. She retrieved his towel from the towel bar and handed it to him, averting her eyes as he stood back from the sink to wrap it around his waist.

He turned around and leaned back against the sink, afraid that he wouldn’t be able to hold himself up at the sight of her crying over him, yet again.

Granger had seen his Dark Mark dozens of time before, but after he had spent so many minutes scrutinizing himself, he felt it necessary to hide it and so tucked it at his side to grab the sink behind him. She finally, after agonizing seconds ticked by, almost audibly, raised her eyes to meet his. “Have you enjoyed the last few days?” she asked quietly.

Draco chewed on the inside of his cheek twice before he answered. “Of course…but that’s not the point, Granger.”

“Do you want to continue having moments like we’ve shared over the last few days?” she questioned.

“Hermione, you know I do-”

“Do you want to fall properly in love…with me?” she pressed further.

Draco’s heart was beating in his chest so rapidly he thought it might detach and float through his skin. “I want that more than anything,” his voice was little more than a whisper.

“Then why are you trying to sabotage this before we’ve even given it a chance?” she asked, her voice demanding answers.

“Because…it’s always going to be this way. I’ll be that charming, flirty man you want to love for awhile, then my self-deprecation will seep back in and ruin us. Ruin you. I am not lovable and I wish you could see that,” he pleaded.

She shook her head, her curls bouncing. “Bollocks. You’re self-deprecation starts to seep in because you let it. It’s easier for you to see the child you once were than the incredible, striking man you are now. I’m sorry you can’t see it, but I do. And, as I said last night, you’re worth taking a chance on.”

“This is going to end in disaster,” Draco warned her once again.

“Only if you keep overthinking everything all the time. Why can’t you just do what comes naturally? Allow yourself some happiness instead of constantly punishing yourself with the thoughts that you don’t deserve happiness? You’ve got to let your guard down and live a little, Draco. Or you are going to be alone and miserable, unnecessarily, forever.”

“You won’t listen to me, dammit,” he snarled. “So I’m going to make that choice for you.”

“Fuck you, Draco Malfoy. Fuck you,” she cursed him uncharacteristically and he raised his eyebrows.

“I am staying right here, with you. You are going to let me in and you are going to fall properly in love with me because it’s what we both want. I think we’ve both suffered enough to last one lifetime. There is literally no reason we can’t be together. The War is over and, even though we initially fought on opposite sides, we came out victorious on the same side. So take your self-deprecation and shove it, because this is going to happen and you are going to let it,” Granger finished with a final tone to her voice.

Draco studied her for a minute and clenched his jaw. She was right, of course—she always was. But what she didn’t realize was that he didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to swallow down the hatred he felt for himself most days. He didn’t know how to win her heart and love her tenderly, wholly, as she deserved. Why couldn’t he just do what comes naturally?

Granger stepped closer to him and placed her hands along his abdomen, tucking her fingertips into the top of the towel as though she wished it would fall to the floor, but too shy to make it. “I am going to show you what its like to be loved, Draco Malfoy. And you are going to let me. We both have lingering issues to contend with, we always will. But we can help each other get through the bad days so we can celebrate the good ones. I don’t want to have another discussion like this one, ever again—I will not keep trying to convince you that this is right.”

Draco swallowed hard and nodded his understanding, pulling his hands from the sink behind him and placing them on either side of her neck. She looked up from where her fingers were running between the terrycloth and his bare flesh and into his eyes. “You claimed me as your witch. Well, you’re every bit mine as I am yours. We have been tiptoeing around this for months now. All the rows, the flirting, the jealousy on both parts…We’ve been each others for a while now, we just never realized it because we’re both stubborn and resistant.”

She pressed her forehead into his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. He tamped down the self-loathing flavored bile that rose in his throat and felt his heart flutter. “Gods, Granger…you’re so bossy,” he whispered, trying to mask the crack in his voice.

She laughed lightly into his chest and leaned back, running her hands up and over his chest, glancing back down at his towel. Draco took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves and the unrelenting feeling that he was going to ruin everything. Granger leaned her head forward, searching his lips out and he relented. He would always relent where she was involved, he knew. He didn’t even know why he bothered to try.

She kissed him tenderly, sweetly. He could feel her pulse quicken beneath his palm as it rested on her neck. Draco felt her hands, shaking slightly, run down his chest and down his abdomen to the twist in his towel. She broke the kiss and looked down at his waist, her head shielding her hands from his line of sight. He felt the towel loosen around him and he swallowed hard as it dropped to the floor. Her hands went away from him and he saw her cross her arms and fist handfuls of the dress she wore, hesitating for a moment before she slowly dragged it up and over her head.

Her dress joined his towel at their feet and she averted her eyes, looking at a point just beyond his left hip. She’d already removed her tights before she came in, so she stood in a pair of pink cotton underwear and a white, sensible cotton strapless bra. Draco’s heart was beating dangerously quick in his chest as Granger stood before him, a rosy blush climbing across her chest, contrasting pleasantly with the white of her brassiere. He ached to touch her, to run his hands over her flesh, but he was unsure of what her intentions were. He’d never been so nervous with a witch before, not even when he was fourteen and losing his virginity.

She leaned in and kissed his chest, trying to hide the embarrassed flush of her cheeks as she brought her hands behind her to unclasp her bra and drop it to the floor. Draco heard her unsteady breaths and placed his hands yet again on either side of her neck, trying to look between them, their nakedness still obscured by her mane of curls as she bowed her head to the floor and slipped her hands under the band of her underwear and slid them off, stepping out of them completely before she sighed and lifted her face to meet his gaze.

Draco could tell she was just as nervous as he, he could practically feel their hearts beating, no longer in time but creating a pleasant symphony between them. As badly as he wanted to drag his eyes over her and relish every square inch of her feminine form, he tried to maintain a level of respect. This was the third time he’d seen her naked, but the first time she was bearing herself for him completely willingly.

Granger took his hand shyly and led him to the shower, testing the temperature of the water before she stepped in, pulling him to follow. He got a glimpse of her bare back, the two round dimples at the top of her round, supple arse. He felt his body throb in response. Granger stood under the water, pulling him toward her so that he shared the steady stream of steamy water. Draco leaned down, tipping her face toward him with one finger. He brushed his lips against hers, gliding his tongue along the seam. She opened her mouth and kissed him agonizingly slowly.

All thoughts of this being a doomed relationship left as he felt her tiny hands on his hips, pulling him closer to her. He threaded one hand into her hair at the nape of her neck and ran the fingertips of the other across her jaw, then the length of her neck and down to trace her left collarbone. She hadn’t touched him in any of his erogenous areas yet and he didn’t want to move too quickly or to scare her off.

Granger must have sensed his hesitation and she moved closer to him, her breasts brushing sinfully against his own flesh. He ran his hand from her collar down between her breasts and paused to brush a thumb across the soft swell, the rosy mound pebbling further beneath his touch. He ran his hand down across her stomach to rest on the dip of her hip.

Granger ran one hand over his hip to trace the curve of his arse and used one fingertip of her other hand to trace one line of the ‘V’ that lead to his pelvis, hesitatingly running the same fingertip all the way down his length, causing him to shiver despite the steamy heat enveloping them. Draco broke the kiss and looked down at her. She was looking up at him and she gave him a bashful smile before she brought her fingertips back to rest on his hip. He returned her smile with one of his own and she gave him one subtle nod of the head.

Draco was torn between wanting to slam her into the wall and take her swiftly and roughly, make her scream his name until she shook around him, and slowing everything down and taking this one step at a time. The sensible part of his brain was screaming at him to do the latter, just explore her bare form and not rush into an act she probably wasn’t ready for.

He bit the inside of his cheek and reached behind her to grab her hair between both of his hands, stepping back so that she moved forward under the full stream of the water. Her hair was like a sponge and soaked up the water until it lay thick and matted across her face and neck and down her back. He kissed her forehead as he reached behind her and retrieved her vanilla hair potion. He ran it between his hands and then into her hair, relishing the slick feel of her curls between his fingers.

The vanilla scent that had haunted him for so long now provided him a sweet comfort, stilling his heart. He ran her hair under the water to wash it clean and she pulled his hips closer to her, their bodies brushing against one another in ways that made his flesh burn with desire any time they made contact. The water and hair potion was running down her body between them, creating a sinfully slick surface and he had to steady himself on his legs before he collapsed with sheer desire.

He grabbed the wash sponge and poured some of his body potion on it, lathering it beneath the water. The effect of their two scents mixing made him heady and he couldn’t think clearly. He ran the sponge down over her neck, taking first her left arm and then her right, dragging the sponge wickedly slowly over every inch of her bare skin. He placed both of her hands on his chest, nipped at the soft mounds of each breast and knelt before her, kissing the area between her breasts, a straight line down the center of her stomach and across each hip in turn. He ran the soap over the same trail his mouth had made, washing away his tainted kisses. The water was running down her chest, dripping from her breasts down onto his head, little tributaries forming down to his face and mouth.

He pressed his forehead into her belly and she thrust her fingers into his hair, pulling softly. Draco used his forearm to pry her legs apart enough to run the sponge between them. His forehead against her lower stomach, he brought his face forward and kissed the soft triangle of flesh at the apex of her thighs, wanting nothing more than to reach forward and taste her. He resisted and lifted her foot onto his own crouched thigh. He skimmed his nose along the supple flesh of her inner thigh and planted a short trail of kisses before he bit down, earning him a shy moan and tug to his hair. He washed away his saliva once more and repeated his torturous path along the other leg.  
Granger tugged on his hair once more, indicating that she wanted him to stand. When he complied, she pulled his face to her own and kissed him, still slowly but more passionately than before. He leaned with one hand against the wall behind her, the sponge still smashed in his hand, the other grasping her face to his.

She pulled away and gave him a mischievous look, moving to push him under the water fully. “It’s only fair,” she whispered to him, her voice thick with lust.

Granger leaned forward to wet his hair and he leaned his head back into the stream as she pushed it into the slicked style it’d held in his earlier life. Draco watched as she took a dollop of his hair potion and ran it through his hair, her nails scratching at his scalp in a way that had him swallowing a groan. When she was done with the assault on his head she gently took the sponge from his hand. He placed his hands on her shoulders, watching her every move, feeling predatory.  
She used her own body potion to wash him, the opposite of what he’d done. He was breathing rapidly and she leaned forward to kiss his Adam’s apple just as he swallowed. She dragged the sponge across his arms, leaning to kiss his Dark Mark and he could have sworn he felt it tingle beneath her lips. He knew the message she was trying to convey—that the Mark no longer defined him. It had been the bane of his existence for years now and to have her tenderly acknowledge it instead of running from it put him at ease after the harsh feelings he had suffocated under earlier that morning. Granger was incredible and he knew he didn’t deserve her. But she was going to fight for him and he could extend the same courtesy until she realized that he was no good for her.

She brought her mouth down and kissed his palm and then placed his hand back on her shoulder. He brought it under the wet curtain of hair to rest against her skin. She did the same to his other arm and hand before stepping in to kiss his chest. His muscles flexed instinctively beneath her touch and she let out a soft purr at the back of her throat in appreciation.

Granger kissed the length of his Sectumsempra scar and ghosted her fingertips across the subtle ripples of his abdomen. She knelt on her knees, her feet out behind her, just as he had. She kissed the ‘V’ of his pelvis as she washed one leg and then the other. Her chin brushed against his stiff erection, causing him to thread a hand in her hair. “Granger,” he growled, pulling her arm roughly so she was standing before him. She ran the sponge down his back and arse, the soap running in rivulets down his bare skin as he roughly brought his lips to hers once more. He heard her toss the sponge aside and felt her replace it with her bare hand, running her nails sinuously across his back, sides, ribcage, arse.  
Draco pulled her closer to himself, their slick skin creating the most delicious slipping sensation as her breasts and his member created the only separation between their bodies. He could feel her heart beating as her chin trembled with the force of it and he knew she could feel his just as rapid against her bare breast. It was the most erotic moment in his life thus far, despite the fact that they hadn’t had sex.

The water turned cold suddenly causing them to jump apart, laughing, playfully kissing as he reached behind him and turned off the stream. Draco felt clean for the first time in years, her gentle strokes along his skin washing away his self-doubts and reluctance a little bit at a time. And to think, he’d almost given this up, falling properly in love with Granger.

o-o-o


	9. Chapter 25

Hermione stepped out of the shower, her head spinning. Malfoy lingered in the tub and turned the icy water back on when she was safely standing on the floor outside of the shower curtain. “I’m going to stay in here a few more minutes,” he told her, his voice raspy and sexy.

She sucked her lip into her teeth and gave him one short nod, wrapping herself in a towel and trying to steady her wobbling legs. There was a throbbing in her core unlike anything she’d ever felt; a slickness not totally unfamiliar to her, but more rewarding than anything she’d experienced with Ron all those months ago. I enjoy worshipping a woman’s body the way she deserves. He had torturously kept his hands sinfully close, not actually touching her where it ached. She had never felt as sexy or alive as she did as he ran his hands, mouth and teeth along her flesh.

Hermione went into the room to dress, blushing at the implications of him remaining in the shower, closing the door to give him the privacy he needed to relieve himself. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a cashmere sweater, keeping it casual.  
They had started the morning off on a wrong note, his mood shifting darkly. Malfoy had tried to back out of their courtship, blaming his past. But Hermione knew the truth—he was scared. Scared of hurting her, scared of taking a chance on someone that had been so forbidden for so long, scared of falling in love so soon after losing Pansy. She had enough determination to fight for him, having seen the attentive, caring and sweet man he could be. She was not going to allow him to ruin this.

She tried to replay the last hour in her mind. Hermione had no idea what had come over her, except that the tension and impending argument that had, luckily, fizzled out had left her craving physical contact with him. She was sure she would have relented to anything he’d wanted to do, but she was thankful that he had slowed things down, settling for soft caresses and intimate kisses. Given his proclivity to have loud sex with beautiful witches, it was invigorating to see him raw, careful, bashful.

As she was pulling on thick woolen socks, he stepped out of the bathroom, a cloud of residual steam rolling out with him. His cheeks pinkened as he gave her a handsome grin. She smiled back and laid back on her bed to stare at the ceiling, not feeling brazen enough to watch his naked form again as he moved to dress. He pulled on jeans and stepped beside her bed, looking down at her with a few droplets of water still sliding over his bare chest. He pushed his hair back with his palm and she lifted one hand to pull him by a belt loop on the jeans that were hanging dangerously low on his hips.

Malfoy moved to straddle her legs and leaned down on one flat palm, playing with one of her damp curls with his other. “You’re beautiful, Granger. I’m sorry I couldn’t find my voice to say it a few minutes ago.”

“You didn’t have to…” she mumbled. “You showed me.”

He gave her a half-smile as he twirled her hair one way and then unwound it, staring down into her eyes and at her barely parted lips. It was the first time they’d been in this particular position and she was relishing the weight of him above her, careful as he was not to crush her. She ran her fingertips along the planes of his chest and abdomen and he gave a soft groan at the back of his throat, closing his eyes. When he reopened them, his eyes had gone from a playful silver to a darker pewter, the flecks of blue blackening.

He moved one leg between her thighs and gave them a nudge for her to open them enough so he could settle his other knee between her legs. He shifted from holding himself up with an extended arm to resting on his forearm, bringing his face closer to hers, increasing the delicious weight of his body pressing her into the mattress. Hermione moved to bend her legs, bracketing his waist. She placed her hands on his shoulders as he bent his face down to nip at her exposed collarbone. He ran one hand over her thigh and brought his mouth to hers, not waiting for her to permission to deepen the kiss. He moved to run his hands over her thigh, side and chest. As he moved, his pelvis and hips ground into hers, her spread legs creating the perfect positioning for friction. She wondered what it would be like if there wasn’t all those layers of cotton and denim between them.

After a particularly hard grind against her, she let out a soft mewl and Malfoy pulled back. “Shit, Granger. Shit,” he cursed and raised himself up, kissing her lips with one final chaste kiss.

Hermione watched him rise to his knees, placing his hands on her knees on either side of his hips. She fought to keep her eyes trained on his face, resisting the urge to drag them down to the trail of hair leading into his waistband, the same hair that had tickled the tip of her nose when she kissed across his pelvic ‘V’. “You little minx,” he said, a smile betraying his disapproving tone. “You’re enjoying this slow torture.”

Hermione bit her lip and a grin slowly spread across her face. “Aren’t you?” she asked, her eyebrow raised.

He smacked the outside of her thigh up towards her rear and groaned. “You naughty witch. You’ll be the death of me.”

Malfoy pulled back and stood, going to her chest at the end of the bed and retrieving the books he’d given her for Christmas. “How about we stay in today? I don’t feel much like going out in the snow right now. This room is entirely too warm and inviting.”

Hermione nodded her agreement and sat up against the headboard, moving against the wall so Malfoy could slide onto the bed beside her. He waved his hand and the blanket at the end of the bed spread over them and the fire roared even harder in the fireplace. She saw him eye the phone on the nightstand. “Hungry?” she asked.

He looked over at her and nodded. “Maybe we can order some takeaway? Have it delivered? Look in the drawer of the nightstand. There’s a few menus,” she suggested.

After a few minutes, they settled on Indian takeaway. “Okay,” he gestured toward the phone, wanting her to make the phone call.

Hermione was amused. He saw the playful glint in her eye and groaned. “I don’t know how to work this contraption, Granger.”

“Pick up the receiver,” she instructed.

He warily eyed the yellow plastic phone, a scowl across his face. His hand hesitated over the plastic and she nudged him with her elbow. “It’s not going to bite. Lift the receiver and put it to your ear…cord side down by your mouth.”  
Malfoy shot her a look and did as instructed. He lifted the phone away from his ear and frowned. “It’s making a noise.”

“That’s a dial tone. Here, there’s the number. Dial it one number at a time,” she instructed, pointing at the numbers on the menu. “When they answer, inform them you have an order for delivery. And then order two of whatever you want—I’m not picky.”

Malfoy dialed the numbers painstakingly slow and held the plastic up to his head, hovering an inch from his ear and mouth. Upon hearing a muffled voice on the other end, his eyes lit up and he smiled at her. “Hello…yes…my name is Draco. Yes…D-r-a-c-o. I’d like to place an order for delivery…yes…I don’t know the address…it’s the Lady of London Bed and Breakfast…yes, quite a lovely facility…well, I’d like two orders of the lamb masafij with rice and two…drinks…I don’t know…coke? Okay…yes…thank you…”

Hermione was watching his first phone call in sheer amusement, never having seen him at such a loss for words or stumbling over his speech. He slammed the receiver down and gave her a triumphant smile. “I did it!” he exclaimed and it was endearing.

She gave a small laugh. “Very impressive. You made a telephone call.”

His smile faltered and he pouted for a moment and she ran a hand over his stubble, glad he had opted not to shave his face for the day. “I’m only teasing. That was swell for your first time. Almost expert,” she said, trying to sound more sincere.  
“Next stop, the box that shows pictures,” he said, pointing at the armoire at the side of the room.

Hermione widened her eyes—she’d completely forgotten that there was a television and VCR in the room. She moved around him to hop off the bed and saunter over to the cabinet, opening it to reveal the black box. She pulled the drawer handle beneath it and was pleased to find an assortment of tapes. “Oh, Malfoy…we’re not leaving this room again!” she said, taking note of titles such as Forrest Gump, Titanic and Pulp Fiction among the fifty or so tapes.

“Suits me,” he replied, eyeing the boxes in her hands.

“Pick one,” she told him as he stowed the forgotten books on the nightstand and walked to meet her.

“I want to see them all,” he shrugged.

“Yes…but to start…what would you like to watch? Romance, comedy, drama, action?” she questioned, digging through the drawer.

He shrugged once more. “Why don’t you just reach in and pull one out randomly?”

She did as instructed, making a show of running her fingertip along the spines of the VHS tapes. She retrieved one and opened her eyes to reveal Independence Day. “Eh…it’s corny…but it’ll do.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What’s it about?”

“Aliens,” she replied.

“Aliens? You mean like…foreigners?”

“No…like beings from space coming to invade earth,” she told him, laughing as his eyes boggled in his face.

“I am so ready for this, Granger,” he laughed as he went back to sit on the bed, this time taking the space against the wall while she worked.

Their food arrived as she was rewinding the tape and he went down to retrieve it. They sat criss-cross on her bed, eating Indian food and watching the movie. Hermione watched Malfoy as he watched the movie, laughing at the intrigued and fascinated look on his face.

They watched movie after movie, pausing only to go to dinner with the other tenants of the Bed and Breakfast. Around midnight they were watching Forrest Gump, a scene in which the protagonist’s best friend dies in combat and Hermione only tore her eyes away from the screen when she heard a slight sniffle next to her and a masculine clearing of the throat. “All right there, Malfoy?” she asked, amused at his attempt to hide his feelings.

“Dandy,” he replied, tearing his eyes away from the screen. “The music in this…do you know it?”

She shrugged. The movie was filled with a lot of old rock music that she had heard her father listening to as a child. “Sure.”

“I like it,” he replied, turning his attention back to the movie.

Hermione made a mental note to track down a walkman and some CD’s for him. Draco Malfoy, her old-soul suitor. Hermione’s eyes grew heavy and she slid down onto her side facing the television. Malfoy followed suit behind her, pushing one knee between hers so that her leg draped over his calf, holding his head up with one propped arm so he could see over her. They’d dressed in sleepwear after they returned from dinner and he brought his hand under her shirt to rub the bare skin of her back and over her side, absent-mindedly stopping its slow track when something particularly interesting happened on the television before it started once more. The feel of his hand running over her flesh, lightly calloused from years of Quidditch playing, and his breath tickling her hair when he laughed lightly at the movie made her even drowsier. She fell asleep thinking of how strange it was that she was lying in a bed, in a Muggle room, watching a movie with Draco Malfoy. If she could only tell her twelve year old self…

o-o-o

Over the next five days, the two became inseparable. They didn’t repeat their shower escapades, much to Hermione’s chagrin, but they did pass the time in their room snogging, petting and grinding sinfully. When they weren’t in the room watching movies, Hermione was dragging Malfoy all over London. She was trying to expose him to as much Muggle culture as she could fit into five days.

They’d visited the British Library (to which Malfoy had told her that he “may have came in his pants” at the sheer size of the library, brimming with books; he’d walked to the nearest shelf to crack open a book and smell it’s binding). She’d dragged him to six different museums and watched as he eyed everything in awe (the Natural History Museum was particularly fun seeing as he’d never heard of dinosaurs before and he tried to surmise that they were all related to dragons somehow). They’d gone to the National Gallery, where he’d stood in front of each and every painting, savoring brushstrokes (“it’s amazing that Muggles can create art that is so powerful despite the fact that it doesn’t move!”). He’d asked to go into the All Hallows by the Tower church, marveling at the cathedral’s architecture (she’d had to explain the basic concept of Christianity, to which he scoffed and said it sounded an awful lot like ancient Pagan oral traditions and she’d shrugged).

On the evening of December 30th, after they’d toured the Tower of London—he’d listened to it’s sordid history and commentedthat it was “wicked”—they were strolling aimlessly around the city, passing the ice skating rink where they’d shared dinner their first night out. It was dark and icy and getting entirely too late but Malfoy’s eyes lit up when he saw the rink. “I’d forgotten about the bladed shoes! That’s what we’re doing tomorrow!” he said matter-of-factly.  
She groaned. “Do we have to?” she asked him, pulling his arm playfully to drag him toward the Bed and Breakfast.

“Absolutely. The Muggles are doing it! I want to, too!” he cried out excitedly. “If they can do it without killing themselves or others, I’m sure I can manage—especially after I charm the hell out of those shoes!”  
Hermione swatted him. “You will do no such thing. If you want a Muggle experience, we’re going to do it the Muggle way.”

She’d hoped this would deter him, but no such luck. He merely shrugged. “Eh. Fair enough.”

“I’m going to break an arm. I can already feel it,” she lamented and he laughed heartily as they walked into the crisp night.

o-o-o

There were crowds of people in the streets as the couple made their way toward the skating rink late the next evening, everyone gathering preemptively to begin the New Year’s Eve festivities. Draco could tell Granger was dreading this particular activity. She’d been right at home all week in the museums and library, narrating history to him like a disciplined teacher. She wasn’t much for sports and he knew that. But Draco wanted to push her boundaries, put her into more unusual circumstances so she could get a full experience of the world—he wouldn’t let her get hurt.

They paid the man and retrieved their skates, sitting down on a bench to pull them on and lace them. Granger was practically vibrating with anxiety. Draco stood, his own ankles wobbling slightly and extended his hand to her. “Will you relax, Granger? I won’t let you get hurt. I promise,” he cooed as he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

She sighed and took Draco’s hand, her legs incredibly unsteady beneath her. He muttered an incantation and her ankles locked up as though flanked by wooden blocks. She narrowed her eyes at him and he rolled his eyes. “Hush.”

They inchwormed their way to the ice and the second his skate met the ice, Draco felt as though he’d made a mistake. This was nothing like balancing on a broom. Too late now. He tried to glide smoothly over the ice, succeeding an inch at a time. Eventually, with the use of the ankle locking charm, he was able to stand upright and move some. Granger was clinging to the wall, terrified.

He moved his way back to her, every swipe of his foot bringing the activity to him more easily. He reached her and held out both hands. “Here, grab hold of me. I won’t let you fall.”

She let go of the wall one hand at a time and didn’t trust her legs to move on their own. Draco laughed and pulled her along. “That look of sheer terror is so becoming on your pretty little face,” he joked, kissing the tip of her nose as she tried to steady herself.

“Easy for you to say. Of course this would come easily to you! Is there anything that you can’t do?” she asked, irritated.

Draco thought about it a moment. Win her heart. “I can’t stop think about you, every second of every day.”

Granger’s eyes widened and a pretty blush painted the skin beneath her freckles. “Smooth,” she replied.

“You don’t like me when I’m being all gushy and sentimental?” he pouted. “Leave it to you to only be attracted to me when I’m sullen and moody. Always the glutton for punishment.”

He grinned down at her as she glared at him and brought his lips to hers as he spun them in a slow circle. “So…what are we going to do to ring in the New Year?” he asked casually.

Granger bit her lip as she concentrated on not falling. “I was thinking I could take you somewhere from my childhood…somewhere I’ve never brought anyone.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Do you think you can hold yourself upright? I want to see if I can gain some momentum on these things.”

Granger bit her lip but removed her hands from his own, holding them out to her sides and bending forward slightly, petrified she’d fall. He smirked and backed away from her, turning to glide between Muggles in the opposite direction. He made it to the far wall and turned around to see her, intent on speeding as fast as he could back to her. As he took off, he saw a Muggle come up next to her and trip over his own feet, grabbing onto Granger’s arm in an attempt to steady himself. But Granger lost her footing and Draco cast a wandless cushioning charm to break her fall as she crashed to the floor. He came to halt beside her and looked down at her frown. “All right?” he asked as she glared at him.

“Peachy,” she replied, moving her arms to make sure she hadn’t broken anything. “Thanks for the cushioning charm.”

He shrugged. “Some things are better done the wizarding way after all…like falling,” he extended his hand to lift her and she rose, brushing the wet seat of her pants.

“Why don’t we grab some hot chocolate and head to wherever it is you’re taking me? We’re about…one hour out from midnight,” he told her.

She looked grateful enough to kiss the ground when she sat on the bench to remove her skates. Draco laughed lightly, pulling on his own trainers and taking their skates back to the rental booth. “Never again,” Granger groaned, still upset about her wet behind.

“Ah, well. At least I can say I’ve done it,” he replied, steering them into a cramped coffee shop.

Muggles all around them were bundled up in their winter clothes and had hairbands with giant ‘1999’s sticking up, feather boas and little things they blew into to make noise. He paid for two hot chocolates and led them into an alley so she could Apparate them to their destination, stopping along the way to purchase some glow necklaces from a street vendor.

He put one around Granger’s head like a flower chain and wore his around his neck, wondering how they made it glow like that. In the alley, Granger took his hand and with a squelching sensation, Apparated them away.

When they landed, they could still hear the loud festivities, only muffled and drowned out by the sound of wind whipping all around them. He gathered that they were up high on the roof of a building. “Where are we?” he asked, looking over the edge at the streets below, littered with tiny Muggles.

She went to the edge and leaned on it, refusing to look straight down, instead choosing to look out in front of them at the city before them, water beyond that. “It’s the roof of the school I attended as a Muggle child. I used to come up here when my peers made fun of me…I’d spend hours transfiguring pebbles into flowers—not knowing what or who I was.”

Draco clenched his jaw. Even in the Muggle world, this beautiful, broken girl beside him had suffered at the hands of her peers. He wished he could go back in time and take back every jeer and insult he’d thrown her way. He remained silent.  
Granger lifted her wand and put a warming dome and shield up around them to shut out the wind. “Watch the Muggles at midnight,” she told him, pointing down at the street beyond. “They’re going to kiss each other.”

Draco furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“It’s tradition. It means you want to spend the year with that person,” she told him, not breaking her stare of the sight before them.

Draco’s heart started to race. “When do they kiss if they want to spend a lifetime with that person?” he asked, instantly regretting the implications of what he’d said.

She eyed him curiously before sighing. “I suppose at the wedding.”

He laughed at her sarcasm and she smiled, taking a sip of her hot chocolate and tapping the bottom of her cup on the wall. Draco fingered the signet ring on his ring finger. He’d been looking for the best time to give it to her and he figured now was as good a time as any. “Granger,” he commanded her attention, pulling the ring from his finger.

She turned toward him, leaning casually on the wall, her eyebrow raised. She didn’t understand the monumental meaning behind the moment that was to come. “Malfoy,” she replied playfully.

Draco moved closer to her and she set her cup on the wall, likely thinking that he was coming in for a kiss. “We’re courting now, right?”

A smile tugged at her lips. “I suppose.”

He looked at the ring he held between his index finger and thumb. “We Purebloods are…well, we’re terrible people for the most part.”

Granger snorted a laugh and he narrowed his eyes. “But one thing Purebloods get right is courting. It’s romantic in the little ‘r’ sense with love and such, but it’s also Romantic in the capital ‘R’, Olde Worlde sense. Courting is an important step in a Pureblood’s life because the person you court will likely end up being your betrothed.”

Granger was looking at the ring in his hand curiously, nodding as he spoke. He continued. “It’s tradition that a pureblooded male receives a signet ring on his thirteenth birthday as a gift from his father. They are meant to signify that the boy is becoming a man. He wears it until he find a potential mate to court, which in the Pureblood community is usually around sixteen…I’m a little late, obviously,” he muttered, looking at the ring and then up to her.

“Once the Pureblood begins courting, it’s customary to give the ring to the girl as a promise ring of sorts. It symbolizes the promise to remain faithful, to love wholeheartedly and a promise to wed if the circumstances prevail. My ring is also imbued with Ancient Magick, a thousand years of every protection spell readily available to the Malfoy family. I’d—I’d like for you to wear it,” he told her, meeting her gaze once more.

Granger’s mouth was open and she was looking at him intently, searching his face for any sign of malice. She slowly nodded. He cleared his throat. “It’s customary to present it to you on one knee…I know that’s how Muggles like to propose…this is not an engagement ring, per se…merely a promise…” he was stuttering unsurely.

She nodded once more and Draco hesitated for only a moment before he went on one knee. His heart was hammering. There would be no turning back after he gave her his ring. She truly would be his witch. “If I give this to you…only a strong disenchantment charm would allow me to take it back. Is-Is that acceptable?” he whispered.

Granger appeared to be holding her breath and she nodded once more, her curls bouncing. “There’s a few different ways they’re presented to the intended. I can transfigure it into a charm for a necklace, or I can charm it to fit your finger or you can wear it on a chain around your neck. How would you prefer?”

She let out a slow breath and placed her hands on either side of his face. “I want to wear it on a chain around my neck, exactly as it looks now. Do not resize it. I want it to look like it still belongs to you…that you truly gave me something of yours to symbolize…us…”

Draco smiled and pulled her hand toward him. He kissed the back of her hand in true pureblooded, gentlemanly fashion. “Hermione Jean Granger,” his eyes lit up at her dull middle name, a smirk playing at his lips, “would you accept this ring, symbolic of the most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, as an outward display of my undying dedication to you, this relationship and our future?”

Granger was biting her lip, her face flushed and chest still as she held her breath once more. Draco kissed her hand once more. “You have to say it aloud, love,” he whispered and she smiled at his use of the pet name.

“I accept the ring and will treat it as my own,” she managed to choke out.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief, all of the lines he’d rehearsed all week and all the scenarios that’d played out in his head now forgotten. He stood once more and she pulled the chain of the necklace she’d worn to the fundraising gala from beneath her sweater. “Don’t be angry…but I put another charm on it…” he told her, unclasping the chain and dropping the ring around it, relishing the clinking noise it made as it landed against the charm already resting against the hollow of her neck.

“Why would I be mad?” she asked him, replacing her hair over her shoulders and fingering the emerald ‘M’ that rested in the center of the onyx stone.

He bit his lip. “It’s not exactly…legal…”

Her eyes shot up to his and he put his hands up. “Nothing Dark. I put a charm on it so that if you’re ever in trouble or ever need to get to me quickly, you can just hold it in your hand and it’ll essentially portkey you to wherever I am.”

Granger’s look of suspicion turned impressed. “I think I can let that slide.”

Draco swallowed hard. “The charms placed on it…they’ll curse me if I ever try to stray away from you…I will become physically ill if I try to bed another witch. Same for you.”

“Ah. So you are only going to be faithful because you’re bound by an ancient curse?” she teased, looking down at the ring.

“No. I am going to be faithful because it’s the right thing to do. But…if ever you wish to…stray…please tell me first and I’ll remove it,” he told her, his insecurities coming to the surface.

She looked up at him and scoffed. “Not likely. I’m no cheater, Malfoy…how come you never gave this to Pansy?” she asked quietly.

He clenched his jaw but sighed, knowing that it would come up eventually. “The magic within the ring is a lot like Amortentia, honestly. It wouldn’t allow me to give it to the wrong witch. I never understood it growing up—I always thought what I felt for Pansy was love…but I’m beginning to see perhaps it was an unhealthy relationship, doomed from the start…she was merely a comforting companion to me. Granger, I never felt with her the things I’ve felt with you…our heartbeats syncing, the unwavering desire to touch our skin together, not only sexually but innocently as well, the dragonflies that live permanently under my diaphragm. That’s all unique to you…to us.”

Granger held the ring in her hand and closed her eyes, smiling broadly. He returned the smile weakly as the Muggles in the streets began chanting. “10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

They looked over the edge and saw couples all over the place lock lips and he grabbed her face between the palms of his hands, gently kissing her lips. They both knew the message he was trying to convey by kissing her at midnight. He needn’t say it aloud. As they continued to kiss, long after the chiming stopped, he barely registered the Muggle fireworks that were exploding behind him. The cheers and singing from the streets below swirled all around them and he could taste the celebration on Granger’s lips.

o-o-o


	10. Chapter 26

Draco opened his eyes the morning of January first, their last full day in London. He was cuddled into Granger’s side, his head resting on her chest as it rose and fell softly. He couldn’t remember ever having felt so content in his life. He braced himself for the inevitable thoughts of inferiority and self-doubt, but they never came. He listened to her steady breathing as he traced his fingertips along the hem of her shirt.

He’d waited years to find the peace he felt now as he sensed the gentle hum of magic emanating from where his signet ring rested in the hollow of her neck. What sweet irony that he found contentment in the one person he’d been trained to feel nothing but contempt for. If he had just rebelled when those feelings of doubt in his upbringing first arose in third year, he could have had this for years.

The feather light touches of his cool fingertips on her skin roused her and she brought her hand to his hair, running her fingers through it slowly, still trying desperately to hold onto sleep. “Don’t you ever sleep?” she asked him hoarsely.  
His responding laugh was nothing more than a low rumble in his chest. “Why sleep when reality is so much better than anything I could dream up?” Win her heart.

Granger gave him a soft hum of response and her hand stilled its ministrations against his scalp and he knew she was falling back into slumber. He pulled the blanket up higher and readjusted his cheek against her soft t-shirt in the crook of her arm, moving her curls out from under his face. With just a turn of his head, he was able to place air light kisses along her collar and the lightly tanned skin of her chest. His right arm was under her neck, his hand resting on her shoulder and he readjusted so he could give her a gentle squeeze, bringing his wandering hand to rest across her stomach and on the subtle curve of her hip.

And to think. He almost gave this up. Falling properly in love with Hermione Granger.

o-o-o

“What would you like to do on our last day in London?” Hermione asked as Malfoy moved around the room, collecting the few items that had managed to find their way out of his cedar chest.

It was snowing heavily outside of their window, the swirls of white blowing forcefully in the whipping winds. Malfoy glanced out at the less-than-favorable weather conditions, knowing they couldn’t easily cast a protective charm around them out in open public. “How about we get started on those books finally? I’ll even read to you in ancient Elvish, if you’d like.”

“You can speak it as well?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.

Malfoy gave her his signature smirk. “Can’t everyone?”

Hermione rolled her eyes as she folded her jeans and put them away in her bag. They had to check out of the room fairly early the next morning and she was thankful that Malfoy seemed to be a preemptive planner as well. She had no desire to hurriedly pack her bags—she had no desire to return to Hogwarts either. This holiday had been like something out of a dream and she wasn’t ready to return to Hogwarts and be forced to share him.

Malfoy finished before her and sat on the edge of his bed. “Would you like to go to dinner tonight?”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

“No…like a date…a romantic dinner,” he explained. “To celebrate the best twelve days of my life.”

Hermione smiled widely. “Not much of a life if exploring London with me has been the highlight.”

Malfoy growled and grabbed her hand as she reached for her beaded bag on the nightstand. He pulled her to himself and grabbed a handful of her shirt to pull her face to his for a playfully rough kiss. “Don’t start with me today, witch,” he whispered.

Hermione sat on his lap, purposefully brushing where it mattered and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, clasping her hands over his left shoulder. She placed a chaste kiss on his cheek as he ran his hand up her thigh. “As much as I would like very much to get you started, I’m going down for breakfast. Meet me once you’ve taken care of that,” she purposefully ground her hips as she stood, earning a groan of frustration from Malfoy.

He swatted her rear as she laughingly hurried away from him. She climbed the stairs slowly, giving herself a few minutes to think. Her hand met the signet ring and she held it tightly in her hand, thinking about how happy she was and how she wished he would follow her now, slip his hand into hers and give her that playful laugh. As she put her foot down on the last step, she felt a sucking sensation and she when she recovered, she was standing back in their room.  
Malfoy was lying back against his bed, his feet on the floor, his hands clasped behind his head. He sat up, startled as she stumbled on her feet. He saw her hand gripping the ring and he let out a barking laugh. “What’s the matter, Granger? Couldn’t be away from my devilishly good looks and witty intelligence for more than thirty seconds?”

Hermione flushed, mortified. He was still grinning cheekily as he pulled her back to himself, allowing her to resume her seat in his lap. She clasped her hands just as before and placed her burning face under his chin. He wrapped his arms around her protectively and she relished the throaty rumble of his deep, velvety voice as she heard it emanate from his chest. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, Hermione. I was thinking about you, too.”

“Yes, well…you don’t have a one way ticket to depositing yourself in my lap on a whim,” she told him, he voice muffled by his shirt.

He pulled on arm away from her and reached into his pocket, removing his coin pouch. Hermione rolled her eyes. “This is no time to flaunt your wealth, I was being serious.”

“Will you hush for a moment?” he snapped before his tone softened. “I want to show you something.”

Hermione pulled back as he retrieved a small onyx stone from his pouch. He held it in his open palm and she saw that it had a snake carved into it, two tiny emeralds for eyes. “If you say the incantation thrice and then kiss the stone, I could easily have a way to reach you as well.”

She bit her lip. “You want me to perform illegal magic?” she asked.

Hermione could almost hear Malfoy’s eyes roll as she reached out and touched the stone. He grabbed her beaded bag and gave it a little shake. “I forgot…extension charms are completely legal.”

Hermione bit back a grin as she looked at him. “Fair point. What is the incantation?” she asked, pulling her wand from her inside jacket pocket.

Malfoy gave her a strange look and she raised an eyebrow. “What?” she asked, her voice faltering under his gaze.

“Nothing…I just didn’t expect you to give in so easily,” he shrugged.

Hermione thought about it. The old her, the pre-Malfoy Hermione probably would have protested more. But the new her, the falling-so-hard-for-Draco-Malfoy-that-she-was-practically-dizzy Hermione, found that she trusted him. She instinctively knew he wasn’t abusing his position with her, that he was acting in earnest. “What if you’re ever in trouble?”

Malfoy averted his gaze, knowing that him needing her was a much more likely scenario given his stigmatized status in the Wizarding World. He turned back to her and gave her a weak half-smile. “It’s Revertetur in Caritate. Say it thrice, very clearly. Then kiss the stone once, holding your lips to it for four seconds.”

She took the small stone from his hand and did as she was told, her voice clear and concise. The stone vibrated and glowed orange for a moment before turning cold and back to its original state. “Are you going to wear it somehow?” she asked him.

“Do you want me to?” he asked.

She removed the necklace from her neck and pulled the original white gold circle with the ruby from it, returning the chain promptly. She held the gold and the stone in her hand, running her wand along it as she whispered a few spells. The white gold moved to encase the stone, the ruby replacing on of the emeralds of the snakes eyes. Satisfied with her work, Hermione gave him a smile. He was clearly impressed by her work. “Been reading up on some alchemy practices?” he asked her, holding out his hand for her to slip the ring onto.

Malfoy expected her to put it on his middle finger, his ring finger to remain bare until marriage, but she slid the cold ring onto his ring finger. He’d presented his ring to her on one knee, after all. The ring finger had a direct line up to his heart, and his ring hung close enough to hers that she could feel it hum within her. He smiled slightly and wrapped his arms around her once more, kissing her temple. “You’ve got to be careful with that thing. Only clasp it if you can refrain from thinking that you want to be directly in my presence. You can think of me, savor a memory, what have you, but you cannot wish to be with me or it will transport you.”

Hermione gave him a weak nod. Breakfast was long forgotten as they sat there in a compatible silence for a few minutes. She knew nothing of Pureblood courting traditions, but she knew she needed to get a good feel on what was expected, what the motions were that they’d move through from here, and what traditions they were breaking. And she knew exactly whom she needed to talk to. She made up her mind to corner him when they returned to Hogwarts.

o-o-o

“Will you stop fretting?” Malfoy teased as he pulled cufflinks through the cuffs of his shirt.

Hermione was trying in vain to tame her hair once more—she hadn’t brought any of the hair potions with her that Ginny was always pushing. She silently cursed herself. “I just want to look nice…this is a really expensive restaurant…I do wish you’d change your mind and we could go grab a pizza and beer…” she was stringing thoughts together as she rammed a brush through her hair.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and stepped up behind her, taking the brush from her. “You’re going to rip all of your hair out…I’d hate to see you bald,” he said, retrieving his own pomade.

He opened it and ran some through his fingers, separating her hair into a small section. He pulled the product through her locks as she fumed, leaning on the sink. His features transformed into his signature Malfoy smirk as he worked. Blast him. Her hair was looking somewhat more manageable. He set the tub down on the sink, the last of the potion in his hand. “You owe me a brand new tub of that…it costs a fortune,” he told her as he retrieved her brush and ran it through small sections at a time.

Hermione watched as he twisted her hair into a low, elegant chignon on her neck. “Where did you learn to do hair?” she asked him, miffed that he was, yet again, good at something else.

He shrugged. “During my childhood I was sheltered most days. Theo and Blaise only came around weekends. My tutor came for four hours a day, five days a week. That left me plenty of time with my mother…It always calmed me to brush her hair.”

He looked down as though ashamed of his confession, placing his hands on her hips as she surveyed his work. She reached and gave his hand a squeeze, trying to comfort him with the simple gesture. Hermione knew that the fight he was in with his mother was harder on him than he let on. Malfoy looked back at her with a grin. “Of course, my mother’s hair wasn’t an absolute nightmarish owl’s nest either…”

Hermione laughed and jabbed her elbow back into his chest. Her face softened and she reached her hand up to touch his face behind her, staring at him in the mirror as she did so. “Why don’t you try talking to her again? Maybe our next Hogsmeade weekend?”

He pursed his lips and shook his head once. “I’ve said my piece, Granger. The proverbial Quaffle is in her hands now.”

Hermione stared at him, his face impassive, but his eyes showing his true emotions. “Look, Malfoy, I know what it’s like not to have parents when you so desperately need them. You father is…a lost cause. But you still have your mother and she loves you dearly. Even I can see that. Try to work things out with her.”

He wrapped his arms around her torso and rested his chin on her shoulder, placing a gentle kiss on her skin. “We’ll see,” was all he said and she knew not to press the matter further.

Draco would get around to making up with his mother on his terms. If Narcissa was anything like her son, they were both too stubborn for their own good. But one of them would cave soon—there was too much love there. She backed up, indicating she needed out of the cage his arms were creating around her. “I need to dress.”

He grunted a response and backed away from her, allowing her to pass. She retrieved the gown she’d worn to the gala and, after a few modifying spells, was left with a simple knee length dress. It was elegant, but not ostentatiously so. Malfoy pulled on a suit coat, ever the picture of perfection. Hermione rolled her eyes. The perfect prat.

Malfoy peeked out of the curtain into the dark evening, the snow still coming down in soft blankets. He sighed and retrieved Hermione’s coat, wrapping it around her shoulders. “I do wish we could get by with wearing our wool cloaks…”  
He held out his hand and Hermione took hold, thinking he was going to Apparate them out. Instead he pulled her to the door and started down the stairs. “Where are we going?” Hermione asked, confused.

Malfoy gave her a sheepish look. “We’ve been here twelve days, and I still have yet to ride in an automobile. So I thought I’d take advantage of the opportunity while I had it.”

“What happened to ‘you’ll never catch me in one of those’?” she teased, shaking their clasped hands playfully.

“Well…if I can survive a day on their bladed shoes I can survive a ride in the back of one of those steel death traps. It’s only a few blocks…”

“And how did you go about obtaining reservations at one of the swankiest restaurants in London…and a driver?” she asked, eyeing him.

“Gwen. She helped me navigate something called a telephone book. Luckily, I was able to exude enough pompous affluence that she got the impression I was ignorant because of lack of need to do anything for myself,” Malfoy laughed, opening the door and escorting her down the porch stairs carefully.

“Don’t you always exude pompous affluence?” she asked, eyeing the luxury car that awaited them on the curb.

“Ouch, Granger. If I had feelings, they’d be hurt right about now,” he told her, opening the door for her after examining the door handle for a moment.

He held a hand protectively on her back as she slid in and all the way over. He took a deep breath and slid in next to her, looking more nervous than she’d seen him in a while. She grabbed his hand and brought his knuckles to her lips. “Relax. Muggles do this all the time…one day I’ll even teach you how to drive one.”

Malfoy gave her a wide-eyed look. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

The driver, a stout, stocky man who could have played Vernon Dursley in a documentary about Harry Potter’s life, seemed to know where they were going. Malfoy had a death grip on Hermione’s hand and she watched him look out the window ahead of them, his eyes flitting all around the dashboard at the levers and knobs lit up.

It wasn’t long before they pulled up in front of the restaurant, a chic French place named Du Coeur. Malfoy leaned forward and handed the chauffeur a substantial wad of cash. “I’ll double that if you wait here for us to return,” he whispered and the driver gave one nod in acknowledgment.

Malfoy stepped out of the car and extended a hand for Hermione to brace herself on as she stepped out. Never in her life had she been to a restaurant so nice and her nerves were eating her up. He placed her hand in the bend of his arm and led her through the soft snowfall into the establishment.

The maître-d was a bored looking girl about their age that Hermione thought could look a little more enthusiastic, considering she was welcoming the richest people in London. “Malfoy,” was all Draco said and she nodded.  
“Right this way,” she told them and she led them to the back window of the restaurant overlooking the Thames.

Malfoy, ever the gentleman, took her coat and handed it to the bored looking girl and then did the same with his own. Instead of sitting across from her at the table, he moved his chair to sit right next to her and extended an arm around the back of the chair to run a single fingertip over the nape of her neck. She shivered and he frowned. “Cold?” he asked, putting his hand up and checking for a draft from the window.

She shook her head and the waiter came over. “We’re going to have a bottle of your finest red and a charcuterie to start please,” Malfoy said, his tone polite but his words spoken in a way that let the waiter know he wanted privacy.  
The waiter nodded and left to retrieve the items and he looked back at Hermione. “Thank you for accompanying me these last couple of weeks,” he said to her, placing his hand on her thigh and leaning in close, giving her a smile that made her heart skip a beat.

She looked down at the expensive white tablecloth and sighed. “Is it bad that I’m actually sad to be returning to Hogwarts?” she asked quietly.

“I’d give anything to stay in our little room with you for the rest of my life,” he told her in complete seriousness.

“It’s almost surreal, isn’t it? To be returning to school tomorrow. It feels like so much longer than it’s been…so much has happened,” she said sadly.

He poked her arm. “Hey…don’t get all forlorn on me now. A lot has happened but most of it has been amazing,” he told her as the waiter returned with their items.

He placed a large board in the center of the table, topped with a variety of smoked meats, pate, olives, cheeses, crackers and grapes and a bowl filled with ice. He presented Malfoy with the bottle, wrapping it delicately in a cloth napkin as he did so. Malfoy studied the label, engraved in the glass rather than on a sticker, and nodded. “1973…It’ll do.”

The waiter raised an eyebrow as though to ask how aged the wines Malfoy was accustomed to drinking were but said nothing as he opened the bottle and poured them each a glass. Hermione studied her menu and Malfoy studied her, running a finger up and down her spine absently.

They placed their orders and Malfoy pushed her wine glass into her hand, retrieving his own. “To new beginnings,” he whispered and Hermione smiled as she tipped her glass in his direction before taking a sip.

The wine was sweet but still made her cheeks pucker slightly. Malfoy was staring at her over the rim of his glass and she was cowering under his gaze. He set his glass down and angled his body even more in her direction. “The bronzy hue of your skin looks delectable peeking through this lacy little devil’s dress,” he whispered to her, bringing a finger to touch his signet ring around her neck. “And that…I can’t tell you how much it pleases me to see you wear it.”

Hermione’s heart was racing under his scrutiny. All week, his spirits had been up. When he’d looked at her it was jovial and softer. Now, he was looking at her intensely, as though trying to silently convey a message his lips were unwilling to say. He lifted a grape from the tray and pressed it to her lips. She took it slowly between her teeth and into her mouth as he watched, his lips parted slightly, eyes hooded.

“Sweet Salazar, Granger. You can make eating grapes sexually appealing,” he nearly groaned, turning to prepare a cracker for himself.

They ate, Hermione overly careful to swallow before responding, shy to be seen in such an establishment. Malfoy, naturally, looked right at home amongst the wealthy, Muggles or not. “If only Potter and Weasley could see us now,” he laughed jovially.

Hermione grinned, but felt a pang at her absent two best friends. “I miss them so.”

“Yes…it must be terribly worrisome to know that they’re facing all kinds of evil wizards without you there to carry them along,” he responded, taking a sip of his wine.

“Malfoy! They’re still my best friends,” she replied, swatting his arm. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

She saw a flash of jealousy in his eyes and he cleared his throat. “I suppose I’ll have to play nice…for your sake. Not theirs.”

“Well, you’ve got a while yet to brace yourself. They’ve still got around a year and a half left,” she pointed out.

“Not long enough,” he muttered and poured himself some more wine.

“They aren’t all that bad.”

“Yes…Potter’s hero complex won’t be boosted any by the fact that he’ll be one of the most skilled Dark wizard hunters in the world,” Malfoy said, his tone dripping sarcasm.

“Well…maybe over Easter break we could go to the Burrow. It might help if you meet the rest of the Weasleys…officially. Though, no doubt Ginny will be all over you the second we get back to Hogwarts.”

“Wow…out of the frying pan and into the fire,” he scoffed. “An entire house full of Weasleys for an entire weekend…”

“Yes, but these are the Weasleys that are…accepting of us. Ron will be a different story. Perhaps if you get to know his brothers, they would take up for you when the time comes,” she tried.

“Yes…because they’ll be totally supportive of the bloke shagging their brother’s ex-girlfriend,” he said, popping an olive into his mouth and raising his eyebrows.

Hermione’s eyes shot up to his and he realized his mistake. “I mean…if we’re shagging by then…I mean…I want to…If you do…Shit…ignore me,” he stuttered, his cheeks warming.

As endearing as his rambling was, she found herself staring down at her hands. “Not yet.”

He nodded and let out a huge rush of air. “I’m not trying to pressure you. I’ll wait until our wedding night, if that would make you feel better.”

She looked at him again and he nearly smacked his own forehead to his palm. “Ignore me. I think I’ve had too much to drink,” he muttered, taking another large gulp as his eyes widened in embarrassment.

“You’re cute when you’re all flustered,” she giggled, placing a finger under his chin and running her thumb along his jawline.

“I’m glad you find the idiotic ramblings of a lush amusing,” he replied.

Hermione let out a tinkling laugh at that and drank her own wine, relishing the warmth that began to spread through her. The waiter brought their main courses, removing the charcuterie board from the table. Their dinner, a savory leg of lamb sided with wilted greens and potatoes, was eaten in mostly compatible silence, broken only by satisfied moans or the random question here or there.

Malfoy was getting significantly sloshed, his gaze hooded and less intense than when they’d started out the night. Hermione was definitely feeling the warmth flooding her, the lightheaded feel clouding her thoughts. He ordered them a slice of chocolate cake, insisting that if she couldn’t eat it on her own, she at least needed to split it with him. She was brought back to all of those months ago when they’d sat in their kitchenette and ate chocolate cake together. Those days of alternating rows and flirtation seemed so far away, yet so important to where they were currently. He seemed intent on spoon-feeding her the cake, licking his own lips as she dragged her tongue across her own to lap up a smear of chocolate.  
After he’d paid the bill, which he’d refused to allow her to split and refused to share the total of, they went back out to the car. His hand on her back was still steadying, but Hermione suspected it was more for his support than hers. Hermione asked the driver if he wouldn’t mind taking the longest route he knew back to the Bed and Breakfast—it was their last night in London and she wanted to make the most of it.

The driver complied and drove them around the city, carefully slow in the heavy snow. The lights of the city reflected beautifully on the white blankets. There were significantly less people mulling about this night than there had been the night before. Malfoy tossed his arm over the back of the seat, running his other hand under the hem of her dress and up her thigh, still respectfully far enough from her most private area, but enough to convey how attracted he was to her. “You are the perfect picture of beauty and elegance…Pureblood women pay big money to attain what comes so naturally to you,” he said, pulling the pin from her hair and tousling it with his hand. It fell in slick waves around her shoulders, his pomade still working to maintain it.

“Any man would be lucky to have you on his arm,” he mumbled, his mouth in a frown. “And yet…you’ve chosen me…”

“Don’t start with that,” she told him, lifting his chin and giving him a kiss. “I absolutely choose you. I would again and again.”

He kissed her hard, the sweet taste of wine and chocolate making Hermione heady. They were cut short by the driver clearing his throat. They were back at the B&B, and Malfoy retrieved more money and handed it to the man, giving him a thankful pat on the shoulder.

Once upstairs, Malfoy ran his knuckles down her back once more. He pushed her hair over one shoulder and slowly, painstakingly slipped each tiny button along her spine through the corresponding loop. The first time they’d seen each other naked, she’d undressed herself. It didn’t take long for her to realize she enjoyed it much more when he did it, his cool fingers brushing along her warm skin as he undid each button. Once he got to the final one, he slid his hands up her back, over her shoulder blades and spread the back of her dress open, placing light kisses along one shoulder and down the other.

He slid his hands down her arms, dragging the sleeves of her dress with it. She pulled her hands out and as it pillowed around her waist, Malfoy dropped to his knees and pulled it down her legs, using one hand to pull the side of her knickers aside and biting the soft swell of flesh, causing her to jump. He smiled and dragged his lips to kiss the two dimples at the small of her back, snapping the band of her underwear against her bare cheek. “Why don’t you get some pajamas on, Granger? Before I do something neither of us are prepared for,” he instructed, his voice husky.

Hermione huffed but knew he was right. She turned around and ran her fingers through his hair, looking down at him as he was still crouched in front of her. She went through her nightly routine in the bathroom, her heart thrumming as she heard Malfoy undressing in the room behind her. Hopefully, their return to Hogwarts would provide enough of a distraction that she didn’t feel like she would burst with unfulfilled desires every time she saw him.

o-o-o


	11. Chapter 27

It was midway through January when Hermione was finally able to get Theo alone to speak with him. The eighth-years, along with the seventh-years, were beginning to feel the stresses of their upcoming N.E.W.T.‘s. Hermione and Malfoy’s time together was limited to studying in their Head Common Room, rebrewing the CCD to gift to Neville, and their rounds on Thursdays and Saturdays. They studied late into the night most evenings, Malfoy claiming they needed to get their head back in the game so they could get top marks on their exams—they didn’t return to school to be anything less than best.

It was a Sunday afternoon when Malfoy asked if she would like to come watch him run drills with the Slytherin Quidditch team, a task she half-heartedly frowned upon since he wasn’t supposed to be playing favorites among the Houses. As she left through the Common Room, she saw Theo sitting at the long desk by the window with his feet up and a book on Transfiguration in his lap. His eyes were already glazed over though it was barely noon.

“Hey, Nott, care to accompany me to the Quidditch Pitch? Malfoy’s running drills with your former House mates and I’d rather not sit out in the cold by myself,” she said, walking over to him and placing her hand on his shoulder.

He closed the book and tossed it on the desk, scrubbing his hands over his face and nodding. “We really need to brew some Concentration Draughts and stronger Pepper-Ups. The whole lot of us are starting to look like zombies and it’s only January.”

Hermione put his statement in the back of her mind so she could remember to ask Malfoy for his help creating some stronger potions to help them make it through the upcoming months. Her nerves were eating at her as she walked with Theo out into the brisk January air. She didn’t even know how to broach the subject. Theo gave her a sideways glance, noticed her gnawing at her bottom lip. “What’s on your mind, beautiful?”

Hermione sighed, cursing the Slytherin’s perceptiveness. “I don’t even know anymore.”

Theo laughed lightly and reached over to loop the tip of one finger through Malfoy’s signet ring around her neck. “Have anything to do with this?”

Hermione looked up at the dark-haired man, his blue eyes sparkling as he raised an eyebrow. “It has everything to do with it.”

Theo nodded thoughtfully. “I figured you’d be conflicted and questioning. Though, I must admit, I thought you’d have found a book on Pureblood Courting practices or something.”

“Normally I would, but what better source than an actual Pureblood raised on these traditions?” she replied, looking at the ground as they walked.

She could hear Malfoy’s voice, commanding and fierce as he shouted calls to the Slytherin team, and it sent shivers down her spine. She missed their little hideaway in London more and more with every day that passed. Theo was quiet for a moment. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“Everything,” was her simple reply.

As they climbed the stairs to the Slytherin bleachers, he began speaking slowly as to not upset her. “Pureblood courting is…old-fashioned, if not completely romantic. There are plenty of arranged marriages, sure, but there is also the opportunity for love. Draco was not promised to any one female at his birth. The Malfoys may be a lot of things, but they truly love each other. It makes sense that they would give Draco a ring imbued with love spells instead of just a protective ring.”

“I don’t understand,” Hermione replied.

“If Draco had been promised to, say, Astoria, the signet ring would have held all of the protection it does now, but it would lack the love spells you probably feel humming through it. A Pureblood can only give his ring to his intended betrothed. If he were in an arranged marriage set-up, he could give it to her without worrying about it. But as he was given a ring like that one, it complicated things for him a little more. That ring has powerful, ancient love spells running through it. Draco could not give it to anyone he was not in love with. He had thought about giving it to Pansy when they were fifteen and stupid, but when he tried to remove it from his finger in her presence, the ring knew. It burned a blister into his flesh that took weeks to heal. Needless to say, his father had to sit him down and explain to him why it was the ring refused to be removed,” Theo said with a laugh.

Hermione furrowed her brow. “Malfoy and I haven’t been together long enough for him to…love me.”

Theo waved a hand. “It works almost like Amortentia. I would venture to say you recognize the smells you smelled in sixth year a little more clearly now?”

Hermione nodded, remembering their run-in with Amortentia back in October. Theo continued. “It’s almost like that. The ring knows that he will love you, even if he doesn’t realize it just yet. I’m sure he understands the implications of the ring allowing itself to be given to you so willingly.”

One thing bothered Hermione above all else. “You would think, as strongly as the Malfoys believe in blood purity, they would have put some kind of curse on it to deter him from giving it to a Muggle-born.”

Theo nodded and followed Hermione’s gaze to where she was watching Malfoy do barrel rolls with ease. “He spent countless nights trying to rid that ring of blood-borne curses. Obviously, he succeeded.”

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“When Weasley’s picture was printed in the paper and he came to comfort you, I suspect he knew then that he wanted more with you. He had me bring him any books I could find in the Manor about removing curses and hexes from inanimate objects,” he replied, shrugging.

Hermione eyed Theo’s hand and noticed he still wore his ring. “You and Daphne not to that point yet?” she asked.

Theo turned his ring over on his finger. “I was promised to someone else. A witch in Romania. But my father died before the nuptials could commence so I am no longer bound to her. But the ring…I can’t give it to anyone else. It knows I was intended for someone other than Daphne.”

Hermione bit her lip, thinking back to Christmas night in all its mortifying splendor. “What about Rosalee…Daphne doesn’t mind?”

Theo let out a barking laugh. “Nothing happened with Rose. If you had stayed longer you would have seen us continue to get shit faced and sing Christmas carols until I passed out sometime after midnight.”

He looked down at where he was still spinning his ring. “I love Daph. Once I graduate, I intend to propose. I want to marry her after I finish law school.”

Hermione had almost forgotten that Theo wanted to be a lawyer in the magical community, like his father before him. She put her head on his shoulder in a comforting manner and he kissed the top of her head. “I hope you understand the severity and meaning behind Draco giving you that. It’s not some teeny-bopper little promise ring to remain pure until marriage. It’s a promise to place you above all else, even his own life if necessary. He’s promising to devote his entire life to your safety, well-being and happiness. By accepting that, you in turn agreed to allow him to do so. He will lay down his life if it means you live one more day. Purebloods take courting very seriously. That is an outward sign that you are his. Merlin help any fool who tries to come between you.”

Hermione shivered under the weight of what Theo was saying, an image of Ron’s face flickering in her mind. “I don’t like the idea of being someone’s…property.”

Theo looked at her curiously. “You’re not his property, Hermione. You’re his everything. Wearing that…you’re the reason he gets out of bed every morning. He is going against his parents…his bloodline—which has remained unsoiled for a thousand years—to take a risk and love you. I know he can be arrogant, rude, a downright prick at times, but that man,” he pointed to Malfoy, who was waving his arms and giving instruction to the Chasers, “is the most selfless and caring person I have ever met. He became a Death Eater to save his parents lives. I can’t even imagine what he would do to save yours.”

Hermione looked at Malfoy, who was turning from the Chasers to fly in her direction, getting ready to play the Beater position. He gave her a handsome smile and a rude hand gesture to Theo who laughed and returned it with one of his own. “I don’t understand how he can feel that way after such a short period of time,” she said, lifting her hand in a small wave to the blond.

Theo sighed, lifting his foot to rest on the bleacher before them and draping one arm over his raised knee. “Draco is a very complex man. He craves affection and acceptance…even if it means risking his own happiness. He’s probably had very strong feelings for a while now but would never act until he was sure you felt the same. Do you feel the same?” he asked, eyeing her.

Hermione thought about it a moment. Yes. She supposed she did. But she couldn’t very well say the ‘L’ word to Theo…she and Draco weren’t even at that point in their relationship yet. She ignored his question. “What is customary during courting? I know very little about dating in general. It took seven years to even get Ron to admit feelings.”

Theo stared at her for a moment, curious about her refusal to say she felt the same. “What do you mean, specifically?”

“Like…how long does it last?”

“Everything depends on the individual couple. Traditionally, it begins when the couple is about sixteen with the giving of the signet ring and culminates in a huge, pompous wedding sometimes around the bride’s eighteenth birthday. Obviously, you’re late for that. I would imagine Draco will still want to wait two years. Two years seems like a long time, but when you think about an entire lifetime together, it’s a tiny blip.”

Two years? Was that going to be long enough? Would she want to marry him in two years? “What about…other stuff?” she asked, her cheeks pinkening.

Luckily, Theo held onto his mature demeanor, the severity of their conversation sobering him. “There are two trains of thought on that as well. One, save yourself for marriage, and two, learn your intended and grow in love. If you aren’t compatible that way, there’s really no hope for a happy marriage, is there? Both you and Draco have already experienced those particular activities, albeit with different partners. So, honestly, I’d say wait until the time is right and then do what feels right for you two.”

“What about a wedding?” she asked, curious on nuptials between two Purebloods.

“It usually some awfully gaudy show of pomp and circumstance. But you don’t seem like that kind of girl so I can’t wait to see you unleash that resilience against poor Narcissa,” Theo laughed.  
“And children?” she asked.

“Well…usually the wife remains at home, dutiful to her children. You keep trying until you produce a male heir or you physically cannot reproduce any longer.”

Hermione looked at him, horrified. He nudged her with his shoulder. “Draco is going against everything he’s ever been taught. I have no doubt he will support you in the workforce—he’ll probably be your biggest fan, honestly. He’s droned on and on about how brilliant you are, how your mind has so much more potential than sitting in Charms class suffering through a year of school unnecessarily.”

Malfoy talked to Theo about her? Of course he did. They were best friends, brothers even. “And let’s not pretend that you haven’t been prepping yourself to have a whole brood of redheaded brats,” he told her, laughing heartily now.  
“How soon do you start having children?” she asked.

“Well…traditionally? You begin the fertility potions in the month leading up to your wedding night. See, the bride and groom are not supposed to see each other for one whole moon cycle leading up to the handfasting ceremony,” he explained.  
“Handfasting ceremony?” she squeaked, trying to rack her brain for any explanation as to what that was.

“You kinda…lock hands with your love and ribbons bind around your hands as you saw vows…it’s not an Unbreakable Vow, per se—you won’t die if you break it. But it is a strong binding vow,” he was smiling at her, clearly enjoying the romanticism of it all.

“Fertility potions? What if I’m not ready?” she demanded.

“Traditionally, the witch didn’t have much say in that. But, there again, this is Draco we’re talking about. I think he’d wait ten years for an heir if it meant keeping you happy.”

“And why an entire month apart?” she asked.

“To help strengthen the desire, so when you see each other there’s no doubt you’ll conceive. The moon cycles affect a woman’s body in strange ways—but I’m sure I don’t need to explain that to you,” he raised an eyebrow.  
She shook her head, every cell in her brain screaming for him to explain it because she’d never taken notice of anything happening in sync with the moon cycle. She made a mental note to find books on moon lore and women’s sexuality and reproductive abilities.

Hermione looked out to where Draco was still flying, weaving between players. The information Theo had shared was clouding her mind, causing more questions than answers. “What’s going to be expected of me, Theo? Honestly?”  
“Honestly? Honesty. If you are uncomfortable with something, you need to let Draco know. Or if you want to do something, but he’s holding back, you need to let him know. He’s restraining himself from going full Pureblood on you because he fears you’ll leave if you learn some of these customs. But he’s always been a little more rebellious than the rest of us—he’ll bend to whatever you want.”  
“But…what am I going to be expected to do? Will I have to sit through stuffy teas with his mother in the same Manor I was tortured in? Will I have to relent to her every whim since she will be the elder witch? Will I have to move into Malfoy Manor?” she asked again, horror flooding her at the thought.

“He has complete control of the Malfoy fortune, which includes his father’s vault, company and home. It used to be customary for the emerging Head of House—Draco—to take the reins from his sire upon marriage and live in the main quarters of the family home while his parents lived in the smallest wing. Their reign is over the second the eldest heir gets married,” he replied, watching her face pale at his words. “But Draco has no desire to ever live in that home again. There was too much evil that took place there. It’s the setting for too many of his nightmares. I suspect he’ll let you pick a charming little cottage on the English seaside and he’ll buy it outright for you, just to see you happy.”  
“And Narcissa?” she asked.

Theo nodded. “That, I’m afraid, is something I cannot ease your mind on. Once he clears things up between him and his mother, you will be expected to have tea with her, to include her in your wedding plans and allow her as much say as she wishes in the venue and guest list. Though, as I said earlier, that will prove to be quite amusing. Just try to remember that this is the last gift the parents give to their son and his bride before they step down as Head of House.”  
“It’s so complicated,” Hermione remarked, her head beginning to ache dully.

“You’re putting too much thought into it all. These are all traditions, but Draco is very…untraditional, to say the least. He’ll give you whatever you want. All he requires in return is understanding and love,” Theo said, and she knew that was the end of their conversation.

The pair continued to watch the Slytherin team practice, Hermione’s head swimming with all of the information Nott had crammed into it and the guilt of her not studying for the N.E.W.T.‘s on a perfectly good Sunday afternoon.

o-o-o

It was the end of January when Draco confronted Granger about speaking with Nott. They were lying in his bed and listening to the fire crackling late on a Friday evening. Draco was running his fingertips along her arm, pausing ever so often to play with a curl. She had her head buried in the crook of his arm, exhausted from her lack of sleep but perfectly content to be in his arms.

“Granger?” he asked, his voice hoarse with misuse after so long in silence.

She hummed her response. “Why did you speak with Nott about courting customs? Why not ask me?” he asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

Theo had approached him a couple weeks prior and explained to him that she was curious about more and warned him that she was probably going to be starting research on the matter any day now, so he might want to have a conversation with her. In the two weeks since then, Draco had run through every scenario in his head of how exactly he would lose Hermione. What piece of information would be the feather that broke the Hippogriff’s back? He didn’t particularly care about any of those customs—except the romantic ideals of devoting himself to her completely and wholly, winning her heart and gaining her trust.

He felt Granger sigh into his chest. “Damn Theo’s big mouth.”

“Don’t be angry with him…but he is my best mate. He wanted to warn me that you were concerned with what he told you,” Draco soothed.

“Is it all true?” she asked quietly.

“Yes, I’d imagine anything he told you is absolutely true of the Olde ways. But, Hermione, you have to understand that I am willing to do whatever you want. Customs like the wife staying home and popping out children left and right…that’s so archaic,” he reasoned with her, toying with a curl absently.

“You still gave me your ring, so you must believe in some of it,” she told him, her tone strained.

Draco thought about his response carefully. “I believe in the romance that my parents instilled in me. My father was a horrid man, but he truly loved my mother. He doted on her at every beck and call and showered her with adoration and gifts. He gave her anything she ever wanted. He held her as she wept over her inability to give me siblings and brewed the necessary fertility potions when she wanted to consistently try again. He maintained an empire, a wealth and a life of luxury, all for my mother’s benefit. Even following the Dark Lord was, in an odd way, for her. He truly believed that the Dark Lord’s teachings would ensure a better world for my mother…and myself,” he said the last part with bitterness he hadn’t started out with.

“I gave you my ring because of what it means, what it symbolizes. Not all customs are bad ones, and we can abandon any of them you disagree with. But not that one…it means too much,” he told her, his voice cracking.

He felt Granger toy with the ring against his chest and he gave her a squeeze, nuzzling his head into her crown. “You need to see her, Draco,” he heard Granger’s soft voice, muffled by his shirt.

He sighed. “I know.”

And he did. He missed his mother fiercely and knew his blatant ignoring of his mother was not good for her fragile wellbeing. “I’m going this weekend,” he told her, making up his mind right then.  
He felt Granger’s smile against him. “Do you want me to come, too?” she asked.

He thought about it for a moment. Should Granger come? He decided that she should indeed accompany him, seeing as they were courting at this point. Not to mention, he may need Granger’s resilience, strength and some of her Gryffindor bravery to confront the only other woman in his life. “I think that would be best.”

o-o-o

The first Hogsmeade trip of the new year fell on January 31st. It was a day Draco had been dreading all week,since he’d made up his mind to go see his mother. He was fidgeting with his tie, trying to make sure it fell just so, and he had to tie and then untie it three times before he threw his hands up in exasperation. “What is the matter?” Granger asked, swatting his hand away so she could tie his tie.

Draco could feel the bile rising at the back of his throat and the preemptive anger at his mother’s likely antics growing like a flame within him. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Granger. You know damn well what my problem is,” he snapped, only feeling slightly guilty at the frown on her face.

She sighed, straightening his tie and smoothing it with her palm. “You will be fine. It’s your mother and she loves you. Just try to reason with her and don’t storm out again. Finish what you started, Draco.”

His heart thudded unnecessarily at the sound of his first name on her lips. “I didn’t tell her I was bringing you,” he told her with an air of regret. “I was afraid she’d tell me not to come at all.”

Granger nodded and kept her face stoic—she really was spending too much time with him. They walked in silence to the outer perimeter of the gates and Apparated directly into his bedroom. His anxiety was getting the better of him and he could feel himself growing agitated with Granger’s slow movements and reassurances as he made his way to the door. Being back in his childhood home was enough to chill him to his very core, the thoughts of the atrocities he’d witnessed here making him queasy.

“Come on, then,” he said gruffly, grabbing her hand and pulling her so forcefully she stumbled.

He tried to calm himself. It wasn’t Granger’s fault he was in this predicament with his mother. He loosened his grip on her hand and intertwined their fingers, giving it a gentle squeeze. She squeezed back, indicating she understood his apology and he took a few deep breaths as they made their way down the never-ending staircase.

Draco was mindful of the hallway that led to the drawing room and made sure the door was closed before he led her down the corridor. “Don’t think about it,” he whispered to her as she bit her lip and closed her eyes.

He rounded the corner and led her out into his mother’s enchantment-warmed gardens. Narcissa was sitting with her back to them in perfect form as she said, “I should have known you’d bring her along.”

Draco grit his teeth. “Yes, Mother, you should have.”

Granger elbowed him and gave him a look that clearly said, “Stop being combative.”

He shrugged as he led her around the other side of the table and pulled out a chair for her to sit. Draco leaned in and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek, feeling the tense set of her jaw beneath his lips. Granger boldly looked Narcissa right in the face and gave her what he knew she intended to be a warm smile. “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Narcissa forced her mouth into a smile. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Draco wanted to kick his mother’s shin for her insolence. “Mother, we came to speak with you in hopes that you will…accept what is happening.”

His mother’s eyes shot to his bare right ring finger and to the lump protruding under Granger’s sweater where the ring sat, obscured by fabric. “You’ve given your ring to her.”

Draco nodded. “Yes, Mother.”

Narcissa’s jaw clenched once more and Draco could see some of his mannerisms reflected in his mother’s worn face. “I assume you understand the severity surrounding his giving that to you?” she asked, eyeing Granger like she was some kind of urchin in the streets.

Granger nodded once. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And I assume you understand what it means that you’ve accepted it so willingly?” his mother’s tone was almost mocking.

Granger threaded her fingers through Draco’s and put her chin up in defiance. “I do. I made a promise to him that I would show him what it means to be loved and I intend to fulfill that promise.”

Draco could feel his heart beating in his chest as he watched the two women stare each other down. He had to admire Granger’s determination and unwillingness to back down. Narcissa Malfoy was one of the most intimidating women Draco had ever met and she could make Death Eaters cower. And yet, here was his witch staring her down in a manner that almost dared his mother to discount what she was saying.

“How did you get the blood purity charms off of the ring?” she turned her attention directly to her son, a slight smile on her lips at the courage Granger was displaying.

“Ingenuity and a lot of long nights reading and testing incantations until I thought I’d pull my own hair out,” Draco replied, his mood lightening a fraction.

Narcissa nodded. “You intend to wed her?”

Draco internally groaned. Of course she’d cut right to the chase. “Hermione and I are taking this one step at a time.”

“That ring symbolizes intent to wed, Draco. You know this,” his mother argued and Granger shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

“Mrs. Malfoy, we haven’t gotten to the engagement stage just yet. We’ve only just begun courting. But I can assure you, we will both do everything in our power to ensure that the giving of his family ring wasn’t done in vain,” Granger said, a stiff politeness in her voice.

Draco had to hand it to the girl. She was as fierce and brave in ways he hadn’t known. Narcissa eyed Granger again, her irritation at her speaking evident on her face. “The Malfoy bloodline has remained untarnished for a millennia, Draco. A millennia. I don’t understand why you would throw that all away on a silly school-aged crush.”

“Aren’t they all silly school-aged crushes, Mother? You wanted me to begin courting a Pureblood witch at sixteen. What does a sixteen year old know of lifelong commitment?” Draco asked and the three knew he was referring to his taking the Mark.

“What does an eighteen year old know any better than the sixteen year old?” his mother retorted.

“An eighteen year old fresh out of a life at Hogwarts, untarnished by War and evil? Not much more. But an eighteen year old who has seen the evils this world has to offer and fought a War he didn’t even believe in, in an attempt to save his family’s ungrateful necks? A hell of a lot more,” Draco spat.

His mother leaned forward and smacked him hard across the face, her arm a mere flash before he registered what happened. Granger ogled his mother disbelievingly as he rubbed his face, embarrassed to have been hit in front of her. “I hardly think that was necessary,” Granger told his mother, turning to look at his reddening skin, placing her hand over it.

Narcissa ignored her and stared at her son, her expression stony. “Don’t you dare call us ungrateful. Don’t you think I understand the severity, the consequences of what you did for us?”

“Do you, Mother? Do you really?” he asked, pushing Granger’s arm aside so he could sit on the edge of his chair.

“Of course I do. I am your Mother.”

Draco slammed his hand down on the table, sending a crack through the glass and causing Granger to jump. Narcissa didn’t flinch, unfazed by male outbursts. “No, you have no idea. I had no choice but to take the Mark, to follow a lunatic that you and Father placed all of your trust into. I have news for you, Mother. I haven’t believed this Pureblood ideology for far longer than I’ve been friendly with Granger I wanted the Dark Lord to fail so badly I could taste it. But he threatened to kill you if I didn’t join him. Do you know why he tasked me with killing Dumbledore?”

Narcissa stared at him and Granger’s eyes went wide, knowing what was to come. Draco was speaking so quickly he wasn’t sure if his mother would catch everything, but was unable to slow himself down. “It wasn’t entirely as retribution for Father’s failures. It was for my own. I failed to rape a girl into submission. Did you know I’d been tasked with that? Did you?”

His mother bristled, finally breaking her façade. “You know I wasn’t privy to the ways of the men.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, your husband laughed in my face when he found out. What does that say of him?”

“Draco…don’t speak ill of your father. He was a good man who got mixed up with the wrong crowd,” his mother said quietly, a tear springing to her eye as she thought of her husband, wasting away in Azkaban, his soul long separated from his being.

Draco grit his teeth but spoke no more of his father. “Further more, the Dark Lord stayed here in this home, tormenting Muggles and Muggle-borns. My childhood home. I have no good memories here any longer—they’ve all been tainted by the atrocities that took place here. Did you know that I went through counseling to help me cope with the flashbacks and nightmares I had. That I still have.”

His mother’s face was softening as tears fell. She wiped at them quickly, an aristocratic woman unwilling to show weakness. “I know that your father and I failed you, Draco. I don’t need reminding.”

Draco felt his heart break then, his anger fading into bitter sadness. He eyed his mother’s face and looked at the weary look she wore. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, the picture of Pureblood perfection, but she had deep frown lines around her eyes and mouth and a haunted look shining in her blue eyes. “Mother,” his voice was soft and pained as he spoke. “You didn’t fail me. I did what needed to be done. But this…unwillingness to accept my relationship with Hermione…that is the real failure on your part.”

Narcissa looked up at her son, cobalt eyes meeting pewter and she was silent for a moment. Draco moved from his chair and knelt on one knee in front of her, taking her hand in his own. “I’m going to proceed with or without your approval, but this would be a lot easier with your acceptance. I am going to devote my life to Hermione, as long as she’ll have me. I want you to treat her as you would have Pansy or Astoria.”

Narcissa raised a hand and swiped Draco’s hair away from his forehead, running her fingertips along the jawline of her boy who was now a man. She glanced over his shoulder at Granger as she sat stark still, only moving to dab the tears from the corner of her eyes. “Are you absolutely sure, Draco? Your children will be…will have Muggle blood. There is so much you will lose by having a half-blood heir.”

“Mother, I don’t care about any of that archaic blood puritystuff. I have my fortune, but I’d gladly give it up if it meant having a life I can be proud of. And our children…they will be brilliant and determined just like their mother…if we get to that point. As Hermione said, we’ve only just begun courting.”

His mother did something uncharacteristic of her status and pulled him into an embrace, placing a kiss on his forehead. Draco was surprised at her sudden affection and relaxed his tense stature as he wrapped his arms around his mother’s torso. She pulled away and wiped her face once more, leaving behind a wet spot on his shoulder.

Draco felt his stomach knot uncomfortably at the sight of his mother’s distress, but knew it was necessary. “Mum,” he used the name he’d called her as a young child, hoping to soften her resolve. “Please don’t ruin this for me,” he implored once more, echoing his sentiment from December.

His mother sighed and nodded slowly. “I just want you to be happy, Draco. You know that.”

“I am. I will be with her,” Draco insisted.

“I can’t just welcome her with open arms…this will take time,” she replied. “I have believed a certain way about her kind since birth.”

“She is every bit as much a witch as I am a wizard. And she is fiercely loyal and brave and so intelligent. If you could get past her blood status, I really think you’ll grow to admire her, just as I have,” he said, the adoration he felt for Granger evident in his voice.

Narcissa looked over his shoulder once more at Granger who was staring at the mother and son as though the scene was making her heart burst with joy. “I will try,” was all she said.

Granger nodded emphatically and Draco smiled a tired, sad upturn of the lips for his mother. “That’s all we ask for.”

He had come to an understanding of sorts with his mother. He could hardly believe it. A pang of guilt hit him then as he saw her sit back in her chair, looking more exhausted and melancholy than he’d ever seen the Malfoy matriarch. He extended his hand to his mother. “Would you like to dance?” he asked her and her eyes crinkled as she smiled.

“My little dragon,” she whispered, standing up and taking his hand.

Granger got the old phonograph in the house to play old waltzes and Draco led his mother around the stone terrace in small, delicate circles as Granger watched the two Malfoys interact. As they danced, Draco felt the surge of love for his mother that he’d been lacking the last couple of months. She’d agreed to try and accept his relationship with Hermione. And for now, that was good enough for Draco.

o-o-o


	12. Chapter 28

Before their meeting with Narcissa, Malfoy and Hermione had kept mum about their courtship, afraid that one of Slytherins would leak it to their parents and back to her. Theo remained the only other person to know. After the meeting with Narcissa and her half-hearted consent, they went public with their courtship.

The signet ring that had remained tucked under Hermione’s buttoned shirt and tie was now outside of her clothes, resting atop the purple striped tie representative of Wulfric house. In between classes, Malfoy carried all of her bags—“Merlin, Granger, it’s a wonder you can stand up straight under the crippling weight of all these unnecessary books!” They held hands as they walked the corridors to the Great Hall, to classes, during patrols.

There were whispers behind cupped hands of their sordid love affair, the older students of Hogwarts thankful to have something to take their minds off of the impending N.E.W.T.‘s. The gaggle of sixth- and seventh-year Slytherins, as well as a few of the seventh-year Ravenclaws that’d hoped to bed down Malfoy glared at Granger as they walked. The couple ignored everyone’s tittering and ridiculous accusations that Draco had bewitched her into being with him. He wanted to yell, scream and hex everyone who opened their mouths, but Granger would put a soft hand on his arm, muttering how they were “too close to graduation for it to be worth it.”

They walked down the corridor toward the Arithmancy classroom. Though Draco didn’t take Arithmancy and the Alchemy classroom was on the opposite side of the castle, he never missed the chance to walk Granger to a class. Her nerves over the N.E.W.T.‘s were wearing on her this second term and she lamented the twelve days of Christmas vacation that could have been spent studying together in their room at the Lady of London instead of “gallivanting around the city.”

Draco tried to soothe her with assurances that N.E.W.T.‘s were still months away, but she’d started a countdown hourglass that dropped one Bertie Botts bean for every day that passed, the number of beans left in the top etched into the glass.

Today, the hourglass had 111 beans still nestled safely in the glass, a popcorn flavored bean poised to drop into the base at midnight.

He stood outside of the door to the Arithmancy class, knowing he was too close to being late for Alchemy to linger as long as he was. He brushed a stray curl behind her ear where it had fallen from her loose bun. “Will you relax?”

Granger bit her lip. “I need to stay focused. I’m going to color coordinate a time schedule for studying.”

Draco was feeling a pang of irritation at her incessant need to be prepared. He studied hard, no doubt, but there came a time when you just had to calm down and live a little. “Valentine’s Day is this weekend,” he mentioned, running a thumb over her bottom lip to spring it from between her teeth.

She furrowed her brow and scrunched her nose. “Valentine’s Day? Please tell me you aren’t planning anything.”

Draco scoffed playfully. “Of course I am.”

“I don’t want to go to some corny dinner with chocolates and hearts exploding all around my head,” she told him, looking mortified at the thought.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I think I know you well enough not to torment you with the gifts that would make most girls swoon,” he teased. “We’re leaving Hogwarts and Hogsmeade behind. I’ve already cleared it with McGonagall.”

Granger gave him a doubtful look and the bells chimed signaling that they were now both late to class. He swooped in to give her a peck on the cheek before he turned on his heel and nearly ran to his Advanced Alchemy class.

o-o-o

“So you two are official now?” Blaise asked, eyeing Malfoy’s ring at the base of Hermione’s neck.

The eighth years were all sitting in the Common Room, Seamus and Theo making them Muggle Irish crème laced butterbeers. Malfoy was sitting on the floor in front of the couch where Hermione was sitting, his hair tickling her bare knees. Neville was sitting in the same position in front of a demure looking Luna. Blaise was sitting next to Theo on the opposite couch and Seamus was slipped into an armchair. Malfoy eyed his longtime friend dangerously. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors,” he said, his voice menacing.

“Well…more like saw your clasped hands and dopey looks,” Blaise retorted.

“We’re taking it slow, but we are courting, yes,” Hermione said, taking a pull of her butterbeer and blushing.

“Are you sure that’s smart, ‘Mione?” Neville asked, already feeling a little looser than normal.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Longbottom?” Theo asked, sitting forward from where he rested.

“I mean…it’s Malfoy…and Hermione…she’s pretty and smart and he’s…” his voice trailed off and Malfoy let out a barking laugh.

“It hurts my feelings a little that you don’t find me pretty, Longbottom,” he replied, clapping his quiet friend on the back.

Since he’d started brewing the CCD for Neville, he’d not been able to stay mad at the bumbling Gryffindor. Hermione suspected he was growing a soft spot for him. “I think it’s lovely,” Luna interluded, her airy smile reaching her eyes. “And Hermione, my offer to coach you on the ways of tantric sex still stands.”

Malfoy nearly choked on his butterbeer and Neville had to pat him on the back several times to get him to stop coughing up the milky substance. Seamus nodded thoughtfully. “You know, Draco, if you hurt her, even a little bit, we’ll have to kill you.”

“Everyone is waiting for their chance at me. Too bad you’ll never get your opportunity,” Malfoy said coolly, examining his immaculate nails with exaggerated boredom.

“We’ll see. For now, let’s play a rousing drinking game,” Theo said, pouring himself a stiff drink.

Hermione and Malfoy groaned as Theo stood around them. “It’s just a nice little game of ‘Most Likely.’ I’ll throw out a scenario and you all point to whom you think is most likely to fulfill that scenario. The person with the most fingers pointed at them takes a nice lil gulp of old sparky,” he finished, brandishing a brand new bottle of firewhiskey.

The seven eighth years sat amicably around their common room and laughed until the wee hours of the morning, Hermione only mentioning their lack of studying five times. It was incredible how tightly knit their little group was becoming and she felt a pang of sadness at the thought that in a few short months, they wouldn’t be around each other every day.

o-o-o

Valentine’s Day blew in on a rare warm February day. Hermione had been suspicious of Malfoy’s intentions for the day since they’d spoken of it on Tuesday. She hated Valentine’s Day—if a person loved someone, they should show them everyday and in every way, not through stuffed bears and candies and dinners at restaurants that charged way too much for mediocre meals. As much as she’d loved their dinner that last night in London, she was a much simpler witch and didn’t require such pomp and circumstance to declare her feelings. She hoped her everyday actions showed how deeply she cared for Malfoy.

She slowly dressed after breakfast, pulling on a simple pair of black pants and a soft light blue cashmere sweater. Hermione pulled her hair back into a plait, curls framing her face, and applied the bare minimum of cosmetics. Malfoy had refused to tell her where they were going, only that he was positive she would enjoy it and that it wasn’t some ritzy location that required a gown and heels.

As she was sliding on a pair of ballet flats, he came to her door, leaning on the doorjamb and surveying her in the mirror. “I can’t believe I’m letting you drag me away from our studies. And the CCD! It’s nearly time to add the lacewing flies!”  
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I’m going to periodically take you away from here so your brain can rest once in a while. And the potion needs tending to at eight thirty-eight this evening. We will be back long before then,” he told her, crossing into the room. He knelt before her and ran his hands up the sides of her arms and over the softness of her sleeves.

The pale pallor of his hands looked ethereal against the pale blue of her shirt and she marveled at it a moment, mulling over what he said in her head. She did need to get out once in a while, and what better way than spending Valentine’s with an attractive man who’d devoted his time to her? She conceded and stood. “Bring your light jacket, just in case,” he instructed, pulling a fleece lined black and green flannel over his own long sleeved black shirt.

Hermione pulled on a black peacoat and they set off for the day. The jackets were a formality—it was warm enough that they could get by without them but cool enough that the jackets took the edge off. They crossed to their normal Apparation spot just beyond the gates. Malfoy gave her an excited smile and Hermione groaned, earning her a throaty laugh from him. “Ready?” he asked, holding out his hand for her to take.

She pursed her lips, only half-heartedly irritated by the fact that they had to celebrate Valentine’s Day, and took his hand. “You’re going to like this, I promise. It’s not romantic at all,” Malfoy winked at her and they were sucked into his Apparating.

When she landed, she was in a large clearing, tall wrought iron gates standing before her. Beyond the gates, she could see wide-open fields and brick buildings. A sign, delicately woven into the metal of the gate read, “St. Barter’s Refuge for Magical Creatures” and underneath, “cum auxilio nemo vox eorum”—helping those with no voice.

Hermione felt her jaw drop as Malfoy surveyed her from beside her. “You want to go inside?” he asked, intertwining their fingers. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Hermione nodded and they walked up to the gate. He tapped his wand against it three times, paused for two seconds, tapped it five times, waited ten seconds, and then tapped it once, holding his wand against the lock until it finally opened, granting them access. Once inside, Malfoy led her to a building on the right. He pushed open the glass door and they entered an office area, glass encased cubicles along both walls. There was a bell attached to the door and it let off a soft jingle when they entered, alerting the man in the closest cubicle to their presence.

The man who came out had a deep tan and arms with patches of healed burns and old scars crisscrossing his peppered flesh. “Draco! I’ve been expecting you! Come in, come in. Tea? Biscuits?” he asked, gesturing to a self-serving teapot already preparing them a treat.

“I just want to thank you personally for allowing me to bring Hermione here. I know you and my father…didn’t end on speaking terms. But I do hope you can forgive myself and my mother,” Malfoy said, his voice sincere as he gave a humble bow to the man.

The man waved his hand. “It’s water under the bridge, Draco, my boy. How’s Eugene?”

Ah. So this was the dragon tamer that had given Eugene to Draco. Hermione was able to surmise that he ran the Refuge as well. “He’s as ornery as ever!” the two men exchanged a laugh. “Forgive me, my manners have slipped. Jethro, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione, Jethro Mulbane. Dragon tamer, creature lover and House elf-rights-fighter extraordinaire!”

Hermione’s eyes lit up and she leapt forward, her hand outstretched enthusiastically. “Mr. Mulbane! I have read so much about your work! All of the research and articles and editorials you’ve published in the Ministry journals—I’ve read them all! Is Tabitha here as well?”

At the excitement in Hermione’s voice, Tabitha Mulbane stepped out from another glass-enclosed office. “Someone called?”

Hermione let out an excited squeal and shook her hand with equal vigor. The two people standing before her were her idols. They’d set the groundwork for House Elf rights in England. She’d read about a refugee camp they’d set up to take in old and weak or disabled House elves, those who had been discarded by their masters. They weren’t working on liberating all House elves, but they were working toward pay and decent clothing. They were whom she patterned her S.P.E.W. campaign around. And Malfoy knew them. Of course he did.

He was smirking devilishly, knowing he’d done something right and she had to fight the urge to both strangle that look off of his face and kiss him for his thoughtfulness. Mr. Mulbane stepped forward. “Would you like to meet some of our elves? After, you can walk around the compound—Draco knows his way around—and look at some of the other creatures we are sheltering.”

Hermione was bouncing with excitement and both the husband and wife Mulbane were pleasantly patient with her as she asked questions. They went into a large brick apartment building, Hermione engaging Tabitha in conversation. Malfoy lagged behind a way, relishing the fact that he’d gotten something right for a change.

“We’re housing thirty-three House elves at this time. Most were discarded by their masters for being too old to do chores,” Tabitha said, pushing open a door to expose a large room, the walls lined with couches and coffee tables, a fountain in the center of the room displaying a replica of Dobby.

Hermione’s eyes glittered upon seeing Dobby’s likeness and she went to run her hand across the plaque—“Dobby—A Free Elf.”

“He was a war hero. It took a long while to get the elves to accept that he enjoyed his freedom, but he brought honor to their kind by assisting Harry Potter, and by proxy, you in the War,” Jethro explained.

“I wish he could see this…Harry buried him by hand at Bill Weasley’s cottage. He would be so honored to see this,” Hermione said, moving away from the fountain to look around the room.

A few of the elves that were still able to walk came sauntering over to the quartet, bowing and curtseying as much as their bent bones would allow. “Mistress Granger, an honor!” a little female elf said, throwing a glare in Malfoy’s direction. “And Master Malfoy…”

Malfoy shrugged as the tiny elf pulled Hermione toward the couch by the window. “What’s your name?” Hermione asked kindly.

“I’s Daisy, Miss. I served Master McNair for over a century, Miss. But I’s got too old to do the work,” the little elf’s eyes welled and she made like she’d begin banging a lamp against her head.

Malfoy stepped in and took the lamp from her. “It’s quite alright, Daisy. You are safe here and no one will fault you for growing older. The McNairs were bad people,” he said, his voice clipped but polite.

“Daisy mustn’t speak poorly of her Master,” she said slowly, sadly.

Hermione held the elf’s hand. “Tell me, Daisy. Are you happy here?” she asked, gesturing around the room.

The tiny elf nodded so forcefully, her ears flapped. “Mistress Tabby and Master Jethro are kind to us here. They take care of us…give us…clothes,” she whispered the last word as though it were scandalous.

A fatter male elf sat next to Daisy and introduced himself as Zingy. “Daisy, it’s almost time to take your potion,” he said to Daisy.

Daisy nodded and hopped off the couch, curtseying lowly, her nose almost skimming the ground despite her crooked back. She eyed Malfoy once more and she and Zingy left the room. The other elves all looked as though they wanted to speak but were too bashful to do so. “Who don’t we continue?” Tabitha suggested.

Hermione stood and followed her, the two men following them. “As I said, we house thirty-three elves currently. This is their common room, where we try to encourage them to do things that soothe them. But, honestly, most of them still clean as their bodies will allow. Through this door is the kitchen,” she led them into a kitchen where the stoves and counters were lower than Hermione’s waist.

“A few of the girls still enjoy cooking, those whose hands still work,” Jethro explained. “We’ve tried to get them to realize that they are free and not indentured servants any longer, but they stick to their old ways pretty stubbornly.”  
Hermione nodded. She didn’t care much for the idea of them continuing to work, but knew they’d never give up their ways completely. An elderly elf limped in, one eye missing, her other eye cloudy. “Minnie must make Mistress Margaret her afternoon tea. Mistress Margaret will not be pleased that Minnie is late. Oh no. No no.”

Minnie continued to mutter to herself and Hermione tried to bend down to reassure her but Jethro gave her a subtle shake of his head and Hermione straightened up. “She still thinks she’s serving her ‘mistress’ who was a child of seven when she died…fifty years ago…poor thing hasn’t been right since,” Tabitha explained.

She led the group up a flight of stairs into a second floor. There were dorm style rooms with sterile looking bunk beds lining two walls, all down the left side of a long corridor. On the right, there were only two doors, leading to the same place—an infirmary of sorts. A few beds were occupied by pitiful looking elves, the rest neatly pressed. “A hospice of sorts,” Jethro said.

Hermione felt a pang of sadness as she nodded. At least the elves would die with some dignity. Tabitha led them back down the stairs. “So, what do you think?” Tabitha asked Hermione, a wide grin on her face.

Hermione returned her smile. “It’s brilliant. These elves…they’re well taken care of. Even if they aren’t too keen on the idea that they’re free now, they are. And they’re living out their lives in peace. It’s…more than I could have ever hoped for these creatures…how have I never heard of this place?” she asked in wonderment.

Tabitha looked sheepishly at Malfoy who smiled kindly in return. “Draco here was the one that got this place started. He convinced his father when he was only eight that magical creatures needed some kind of refuge—protection from poachers, rehabilitation and space to roam in their last days. We added the House elf building about five years ago with the donations from the Malfoy family. Under the condition that this place would be kept secret so no nefarious individuals would find it. We have many connections in the area and people know who to owl if they come across a creature in need.”

Hermione looked at Malfoy incredulously as the woman spoke. He had been the mastermind behind such a brilliant and selfless organization. At the age of eight? Malfoy shrugged as she watched him.

“We’re really excited for Draco’s latest donation—we’ll be able to open our sister Refuge in America by the summer! We have so many warmblooded creatures that need a warmer climate than Britain,” Jethro exclaimed, clapping Malfoy on the shoulder.

“It’s a small token of apology to try to make peace, despite my father’s antics…and my own indiscretions.”

Malfoy bowed his head, the picture of a humbled aristocrat. Hermione was staring at him, her eyes bugging out of her head. He was paying for a sister camp in America, where it was warm…somewhere like New Orleans, perhaps? He had pulled her here, under the guise that she would enjoy it. But it was some ploy to get her to move with him. Something to entice her? She could feel the anger and hurt rising in her.

“How about Draco takes you through the rest of our humble abode?” Jethro said, unaware of the tension rising in Hermione as she kept a smile plastered on her face.

“That’s wonderful, Mr. Mulbane. We’ll come and say goodbye before we go,” Malfoy said, placing a hand on the small of Hermione’s back, making her want to retch.

The Mulbane’s left them outside of the House Elves’ building and went back to their office. Malfoy gave a wide smile to Hermione who shoved him away from her. His face went from jovial to confused to angry in seconds. “What the hell has gotten into you?” he asked, crossing his arms as he geared up for a fight.

“You brought me here so you could try and entice me to move to America with you. I’m not stupid, Draco. You would do well to remember that!” she screeched.

Malfoy clenched his jaw and looked at her. “First of all, they need a refuge in a warm climate. I am moving to America, so it would make sense that we could build it in Louisiana since I’ll already be there to oversee its construction and operations.”

“When were you going to tell me?” she asked him, feeling hurt cloud her anger.

Malfoy had the decency to look guilty for a moment before his face turned to stone. “I got my acceptance letter to Tibideaux-Marteen Mortuary School. There is a Squib working in their admissions, a friend of Michele’s family. She worked on my behalf and I forged all of my Muggle schooling documents and sent them to the School. The owl delivered my acceptance letter three days ago to the window in my dorm.”

“You still haven’t answered my question!” Hermione spat, balling her fists at her side as she tried to rise to her full length.

Malfoy stared at her and she could feel the seething irritation rolling off of him in waves. “I was waiting for the right time.”

“The right time to tell me that the man I’m courting is going to up and leave for a year or more…to a foreign country?! And when would that have been?” she demanded.

“I obviously didn’t figure that out yet,” he pointed out, gesturing to the air around him forcefully as if to say they wouldn’t be having that argument on Valentine’s in the middle of a creature sanctuary if he had.

“And what was your point in bringing me here? Introducing me to the Mulbanes? To try to get me to agree to move with you, lead the fight for House elves in America?” she was nearing hysterical with the implications of his actions.  
He stepped forward and grabbed her arms, more roughly than he had intended as he let go of his grip and rubbed his hands up and down her arms, sighing. “I brought you here because I know that you would enjoy meeting likeminded people for once, not just arseholes like myself who call your campaign spew and joke about your sensitive heart.”

“And the place in America? You had no intention of trying to drag me there?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously, still miffed.

He pursed his lips. “That’s pretty fucking presumptive, Granger. And a tad arrogant. Why would you think I would consider you the best person for the job?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and he let out a light laugh. “Calm down. I have, obviously, thought of asking you to accompany me…when the time is right. And if you would like to head the project in America, that would thrill me to no end. But if you want to do something that will earn you a paycheck, I can’t blame you there. And yes, I did have a slight hope that you would fall in love with St. Barter’s and want to help the cause. But that was not my main intention for bringing you here, honestly.”

He looked at her in earnest and she huffed an indignant breath. He rolled his eyes and laced their fingers forcefully. “Come on then, Granger. Before you completely ruin Valentine’s Day.”

Hermione allowed herself to be led by the hand, but she kept a stony façade on her face as he led her down into a grotto on the edge of the property. She was muttering about “cunning, conniving Slytherins” and he was clenching his jaw, his hand a death grip on hers. The magic of the day was ruined.

They descended the stairs to find a grotto, lit by a haunting green light to rival the Slytherin commons, and a large stone pool ahead of them. When he walked up, he pulled Hermione’s hand along until she was standing next to him. “Snakes?” she said, surprised.

“Snakes need love, too,” Malfoy replied, his eyes trained on two ten foot long water snakes that were twisting their bodies together in a power struggle.

Hermione knew he was referring to himself now and she sighed, trying to will her anger and hurt at his deception to dissipate. Perhaps he had honestly brought her here to enjoy the company of her idols. They stared into the emerald clear water and watched the slithery serpents work around one another.

As they did, a stray grindylow shot into the tank from a hidden alcove and Hermione and Malfoy watched him chase the serpents, harassing them into a frenzy. Malfoy laughed at the creature and turned to go. “Come on, then. Jethro said the occamy just laid eggs this morning,” he said, leading her to another building.

When they entered this building, the air was stifling hot. “They need warm air,” he explained, leading her to a glass tank in the corner of the room. “One of the many creatures that will benefit from the refuge in America.”

They stopped in front of the tank and Hermione pressed her hand to the glass, feeling the heat under her palm. “Are all of the creatures in tanks?”

Malfoy shook his head. “Her eggs are made of pure silver and worth a fortune. She must be preserved and sheltered.”

Hermione watched the feathered serpentine animal guard her eggs, her eyes unseeing of them. “Her tank is one way, we can see her but she cannot see us. It’s for her own safety, as she would peck the glass until her beak fell off. She’s normally a little larger than this, but she shrank down to fit her tank here. She will incubate her eggs for another thirty-six days, after which time the silver egg shells will be harvested and sold to the highest bidder, more money in the foundation’s fund,” Malfoy told her.

“How did you get so wise in the world of magical creatures?” she asked, eyeing him.

“I’ve been coming here since construction was complete, Granger. Every summer. I hadn’t been in the past three years, for obvious reasons,” he said, his fingertips going to his Dark Mark.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of person to care much about creatures,” she muttered.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of person who puts much stock into her own prejudices, but here we are,” he countered, his tone terse.

Hermione clamped her mouth shut. He was right, of course. But she just couldn’t believe that the little twelve year old prat that had called her a Mudblood was fresh from a summer of feeding grindylows and occamies. “This is the winged ward. The rest of the creatures in here are in to have their wings repaired before they can be rereleased,” he explained.

Hermione followed Malfoy as he strode to stand in front of a room, closed off at three sides but open in front of them, a thin ornate cage enclosing the open-air side. Hermione saw a phoenix hiding in the corner, the size of Fawkes fullgrown, but lacking a single feather. There was a small flock of golden snidgets in one corner, twittering excitedly, all along a single branch. They were unable to fly, but it didn’t stop one from trying anyway. Finally, they came in front of a large room, similar to the other but larger still, it’s roof gone to expose the sunny sky. Inside of this room, a hippogriff, substantially smaller than Buckbeak and more tawny in color, lay watching them carefully. “You want to feed her?” Malfoy asked.  
Hermione nodded and Malfoy went to a small refrigerator in the corner of the room. He retrieved a long string of dead ferrets and held the ends of the string while she placed a sticking scourgify charm on her hand to repel the blood. She retrieved one and held it between the bars of the cage. The hippogriff looked at her and didn’t move. Malfoy clicked his tongue. “Come on, Glenda. Come to Drakey. You remember me, don’t you?” he asked in a sweet voice, putting his hand through the bars.

“How long has she been here?” she asked.

“A long time…since fourth year. They’ve been trying to get her to take flight, but she prefers to be cuddled up in here. They rescued her from an abusive handler. She had no feathers when she came, but as you can see she’s beautiful now,” he said, bowing deeply.

The hippogriff bowed and he reached through the bars to stroke her beak. Hermione raised an eye. “I would have thought after your last painful run-in with a hippogriff you would hate these creatures.”

“I was an arrogant child and it got me injured. But look at her…how could you hate that?” he asked as Hermione tossed a dead ferret into the creature’s waiting mouth. “She’s magnificent.”

Hermione looked at Malfoy, thoughts running through her head. He seemed truly at peace here, even more so than he had in London. She felt a twinge of guilt at the anger and accusations she’d tossed his way. Malfoy tossed the third and final ferret into the cage and leaned in against the rail that ran the length of the cage front. He looked at the creature, pensive and smiling as the hippogriff shook her head and preened her feathers. The way he looked, completely enamored with the magical creatures around them, she couldn’t find it in her to stay mad. She snaked her hand under his arm and intertwined their fingers. He sighed. “I truly brought you here with the sole intent that you enjoy the creatures. My hopes on you falling in love with this place were merely an afterthought, Hermione.”

He looked down at her and she softened further at his use of her given name. He only reserved her first name for times when he was being sincere and she knew he was being truthful. She felt foolish for overreacting and guilty for ruining what he’d probably planned to be a perfect day.

She leaned her head on his shoulder and he leaned his cheek on her crown for a brief moment before nudging her with his shoulder. “Let’s go see some more of the creatures, shall we?”

She nodded and they began ambling slowly, enjoying the warm day and the sights and sounds around them. There were nifflers flitting around their feet, digging up and re-hiding fake shiny galleons, completely content with their activities as their little platypus bills nipped playfully at the couple’s feet.

“Let’s go look at the equine creatures,” Draco said, pointing to a large open range area.

Hermione knew there were wards up to keep the animals from charging the rest of the compound, but the sight of a large herd of wild Abraxan winged horses unnerved her. They were so raw and untamed, towering high above them. “My grandfather’s name was Abraxas. Probably because he was as crazy as an Abraxan and as fierce and intimidating as one,” Malfoy said as a single white unicorn stepped out of the far wooded area and into the clearing.

The unicorn was significantly smaller than the others, but it didn’t seem to bother the animal. She walked right in between two Abraxans at the feeding trough and drank her fair share of the single-malt whiskey. “She’s a fierce animal, but she has a terminal illness. They are taking care of her and nursing her carefully—her blood will be worth thousands of galleons. Healers all over Europe will be scrambling for uncursed unicorn blood,” Malfoy pointed out.

Hermione hadn’t said much as they walked, but she thought back to the past summer when Seamus had been poisoned because of a hole in his glove. Malfoy had used unicorn blood to save Seamus’ life…and limb. She marveled once more at the inherent intelligence that Draco seemed to possess, not unlike her own.

“There are mermaids in an enchanted lake just over that hill,” he said, pointing at a hill five hundred yards from them. “But if you want to see mermaids up close and personal, I’ll take you to watch them through the windows in the Slytherin Common Room. Their piercing banshee’s calls above water are like nails on a chalkboard.”

Hermione nodded her agreement. “What about other…dangerous creatures? What about werewolves?”

Malfoy bristled, no doubt remembering Fenrir Greyback’s residency in his own home. “They don’t take them in for safety reasons, obviously. But the Mulbanes are working on lessening the stigma around the werewolf registration lists. They want to make sure they have rights and won’t be fired from a job or shunned from society because of their monthly visitor.”

“They can manage their symptoms with the Wolfsbane potion,” Hermione insisted.

“Not all of them…Greyback was too far gone. It’s a case-by-case basis, and the Mulbanes can’t take that chance. There is a sanctuary farther north where they can come and go as they please,” he told her, watching the horses play in front of them.

“You know what I haven’t seen around here?” she asked, suddenly remembering Eugene.

“Dragons?” he read her mind, raising an eyebrow.

She nodded. “Why isn’t there even one?” she asked, eyeing the vast expanse of the land around the central compound. “There’s ample room for one or two.”

Malfoy nodded. “They had two, but your friend Charlie likely has them now.”

“Weasley? He knows about this place?” Charlie had never mentioned a magical creature refuge right there under their nose.

“Sure. He’s prominent in the rehabilitation and taming of dragons in Europe. The Mulbanes needed a tie to the dragon community. Illegal egg trading rings ensure they always need a dragon tamer handy,” he explained.  
“He never told me,” Hermione pouted.

“Of course not. This place must remain a secret, lest poachers and other undesirables find out,” he implored her to remain silent.

She nodded. “I understand.”

“I know all of the creatures mean something to you, but I know your passion is in the rights of House elves and other intelligent creatures, like mermaids and werewolves…even if you don’t come along to America,” Malfoy swallowed hard, unable to voice his desire for her to go with him, “I’d still like your input on the new refuge. I’d like to have more of a focus on the more intelligent of the beings.”

Hermione was silent for a moment, mulling the thought over in her mind. She had struggled so much with what avenue of creature care she wanted to pursue, but it seemed Malfoy knew more about her than she did of herself. She found she wanted to assist him in creating a new branch of this amazing place, but she was still leery about moving so far away from her home, her life, her family.

o-o-o


	13. Chapter 29

In the two weeks following their disastrous Valentine’s Day, Hermione apologized to Malfoy on three separate occasions for her behavior. He told her it was no big deal, he understood she was just under stress, but his behavior didn’t match his words. They still walked hand-in-hand to every class, still ate meals together, still snuggled in his bed every night, still spent most waking free time studying side-by-side in their common room, but things were noticeably different.

He was quiet, pensive and his usually snarky and quick quips were few and far between. When he laughed, it didn’t reach his eyes. Their kisses were quick, and not in a full-out-snogging-session way, but in a clipped manner, never deepening. 

His forehead kisses outside of her Arithmancy class didn’t linger as they once did. When they studied, he didn’t try to purposely nudge her hand so that she left a long line of ink across the paper or come up behind her to massage her shoulders and try to entice her into a quick make-out to relax her brain. When he came in from Quidditch refereeing, he didn’t run to her and scoop her up, with her patting his chest and playfully demanding he shower.

Hermione knew he was hurt, but just outside of apologizing, she didn’t know what else to do or say. She tried, and failed, to get him to return to his usual sarcastic and sweet self, but he stayed painfully withdrawn. She was sitting alongside Ginny in the eighth-year Common Room, attempting to help the Gryffindor with her charms homework. Malfoy had excused himself to go out and fly aimlessly around the Quidditch pitch and she had offered to join him, to which he politely told her to study and help the Weaslette.

She could see him through the window, sitting at the lake, his broom alongside him. His hair was windblown from flying and he was transfiguring blades of grass into flowers which he would promptly set on fire in his palm and then start afresh with a new blade of grass. Blaise and Theo were making their way to him, taking their seats on either side of their pale friend.

Hermione turned back to where Ginny was working on a protean charm, not quite mastering it yet. She sighed and Ginny looked up at her, putting her wand down. “What’s going on, ‘Mione? You’ve been moping for hours now.”  
“I am not moping,” Hermione replied indignantly, watching Malfoy gesturing harshly with his hands as he spoke to his friends.

“Well, something is wrong,” she followed Hermione’s line of sight and nodded. “Trouble in the weird relationship you’ve forged with Draco Malfoy?”

Hermione pursed her lips. “I screwed up.”

“You? Well…didn’t see that coming. We all expect him to, of course, but not you,” Ginny nudged her.

Hermione launched into the story of their Valentine’s Day, Ginny only speaking once to exclaim, “He wants you to move to America?!” and by the time she finished, Theo was walking away from Draco and Blaise, an angry look on his face. Hermione groaned. She knew he was coming up to speak to her, ever protective of his fellow Slytherin.

“It seems like you don’t trust him,” Ginny pointed out after a few silent moments.

“That’s exactly what Draco just said, Granger,” Theo said, stepping through the portrait hole in record time.

Hermione bristled at the tone in Nott’s voice and sighed. “Nott.”

“Don’t you Nott me, Hermione. What the hell are you doing?” Theo came around Hermione’s other side and leaned forward on the table. “You went on a damn vacation with the man, agreed to court him, and told him you wanted to take a chance on him. And now you’re sabotaging everything. What is wrong with you?”

Ginny glared at the Slytherin. “Watch your tone, Nott.”

Theo shot the redhead a menacing look and Hermione took a moment to admire his loyalty to Draco once more. “It has nothing to do with trust, Theo.”

“Well, that’s not what it sounds like. Sounds like you all out accused him of manipulating you,” he replied bitingly.

“He’s not…manipulative. If I believed him to be manipulating me, that would insinuate that I don’t trust him. And I do. He’s just…persuasive,” she hoped the two people on either side of her would understand the difference.

“He’s a Malfoy. He’s used to using his good looks, charm and affluence to achieve his means, Granger. You know this already. But,” Theo sat down, his face softening some, “this was not like that. The sanctuary means more to Draco than it could ever mean to you. Growing up the child of a Death Eater was not exactly easy—that place became his sanctuary as well. He wanted to share that piece of himself with you because he knew you’d appreciate it just as much.”

Hermione hadn’t thought of it that way. Now she felt even worse, if that were possible. She watched through the window as Malfoy wiped his face on his sleeve and Blaise clapped him on the back. She was such a putz.  
Ginny was staring at Theo as though she had never thought about the sons of Death Eaters as anything more than baby Death Eaters in training. He continued looking at Hermione, who couldn’t bring her eyes up from the table where she was staring. Theo put a hand on her knee, leaning on the table with his head on his fist. “What’s going on? You say you trust him, but then this happens?”

Hermione bit her lip and Ginny nudged her with one finger. “He’s right. What’s up?”

“I do trust him…more than I even trusted Ron. And that…scares me. I do want to take a chance on him. He’s bloody fantastic,” she started, her voice wavering slightly.

“But?” Ginny prompted.

Theo stared for a moment. “You love him,” he said simply.

“How is that even possible? We’ve been courting for two months today. Two months! It took seven years for Ron and I to come to terms with our feelings,” she said, and Ginny and Theo both laughed.

Ginny snorted at the end of her laugh. “You and my brother pitifully tiptoed around each other for seven years. If anything, that’s the more abnormal situation, Hermione.”

“I have to agree. Love…it’s not always so slow to come to fruition. Sometimes it’s quick and overtakes you completely,” Theo said.

“Look at Neville and Luna,” Ginny pointed out. “They weren’t dating over the summer but they were already shagging like pygmy puffs by the end of the first week of classes. And they still are.”

The three shared a collective shudder at the thought. Hermione bit her lip. “But how do you know the difference between love and infatuation?”

Theo groaned and dramatically slammed his head against the table. “The two of you are going to fucking kill me, Granger. Is she always like this?” he looked at the redhead.

“What…unnervingly dense for someone so bright? Yes. Absolutely,” Ginny replied, to which Theo laughed heartily.

“Yeah…Draco, too. Merlin’s fucking beard. You two really are made for each other. The difference between love and infatuation…I suppose infatuation is short-lived, akin to lust. That would have been the explanation if you had slept with him the first week of classes and then fawned over him for a while before moving on,” Theo said.

Ginny picked up where he left off. “And love…it’s strong enough to withstand trials and hard times. You both came through months of arguing, knock down, drag out arguments that would have been reason enough for McGonagall to separate you two. You shared something uniquely special at Christmas time, shared things with each other that you’ve never shared with anyone else. I have to agree with Nott on this one…that’s love.”

Hermione tried to let their words sink in. Love. Could she love Malfoy? Her heart fluttered lightly at the thought and she knew her immediate answer. “So what do I do now?” she asked.

“Weasley, do you want to go play some three person Quidditch with Blaise and I?” Theo asked abruptly.

Ginny seemed to catch on to what he was saying. “Sure.”

He left to retrieve his broom from his dorm. When the two started out of the portrait hole, Theo turned back to Hermione who was watching Malfoy and Blaise talk animatedly. “Granger. Are you coming?” Theo asked impatiently and she caught on.

Hermione sighed and dragged herself up. What was she going to say to him? She nervously bit her lip, her forced realization clouding her mind and causing not-unpleasant butterflies in her stomach. Dragonflies, Draco would correct her. The sound of his voice in her mind seemed to clear some of the fog as they stepped out into the bright sunshine. It was unseasonably warm, welcome after such harsh winter snows.

She heard Malfoy’s laugh before he came into view, a sweet melody that soothed her doubts and fed her nerves. “Oi! Zabini, let’s go show Weaslette how Slytherins get things done. Draco, let Weasley borrow your broom,” Theo called, to which Ginny pinched him playfully.

Blaise and Malfoy turned to look their way and Blaise stood as Malfoy’s face fell from the laugh to a stony exterior. “Be careful with her, Weasley. One scratch and I’ll hunt you down,” he told the redhead.

“If there were ever someone who was going to take care of such a fine specimen of broom, it’s Ginny Weasley,” Blaise reassured him and Malfoy knew he was right.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Theo whispered to Hermione and Ginny gave her a meaningful look.

The three sauntered off toward the pitch and Hermione extended her hand to Malfoy. “Care to go for a walk?” she asked, and she was sure that Malfoy, ever perceptive, could pick up on the unusually high pitch of her tone.  
He looked up at her, his mercurial eyes searching her chocolate ones and he took her hand and allowed himself to be pulled into a standing position. He dropped Hermione’s hand to brush his pants off and didn’t attempt to reclaim it once he was finished.

“Where do you want to walk to?” he asked, searching the grounds for somewhere private.

It seemed the grounds were dotted every which way with students enjoying the warm temperatures. “How about the lake?” she asked and he knew she was referring to the lake just beyond Hogwarts’ gates.

The eighth years were being given a few more freedoms in their second term, including the ability to leave the campus on weekends. Hermione suspected McGonagall was doing it for her benefit, worried her favorite student was on the verge of snapping any moment under the stress of the N.E.W.T.‘s.

They began walking slowly and Hermione reached for his hand, which he gave into. She gave it a squeeze and he returned it, looking down at their feet as they walked. “I miss you,” she began. “I miss us.”

He looked at her from his peripheral as they walked and swallowed hard. “Granger. This relationship will never work if you don’t trust me.”

His voice was hoarse and she bristled at the raspy sound of it. “I do trust you. That’s the problem. I trust you, too much.”

He turned to look at her and gave her an incredulous look. “What the hell does that even mean?” he asked.

“It means this,” she gestured between the two of them, “happened a lot faster than I ever thought it would. I meant what I said—I want to take a chance on you. You are absolutely worth it. But…it happened more quickly than I ever thought.”  
They were silent as they walked, her admission ringing in the air between them. “Sometimes, Granger, these things don’t need a long, drawn out prelude. Sometimes, things just fall into place naturally,” Malfoy said as they reached the magical ward around the lake.

He put his hand through and stepped within the ward, pulling her behind him. It looked just as lush and inviting in this little haven as it had almost a year ago with the stream gently emptying into the wide expanse of the lake. It was warmer now within the invisible bubble than it had been outside of it. Malfoy dropped her hand once more and she thought he was angry at her lack of a response, but when she turned to look at him, he was unbuttoning his shirt.  
She raised an eyebrow at him and he shrugged. “Might as well enjoy ourselves while we’re here.”

He unbuckled his belt as he toed off his shoes and slid his pants off of his thin frame, kicking them to the side. He removed his socks and tossed everything in a pile. He waded into the water, ever the picture of grace in his black boxer briefs, his back flexing as he adjusted to the cool water. He dove forward and under the water as if it had the ability to absolve his worries.

When Malfoy emerged, he ran his hands over his hair, slicking it back against his head. “Well, are you going to get in?”

“Don’t you think we should talk?” Hermione asked.

“That can be done in the water, Granger. Come on,” he coaxed her.

Hermione contemplated yelling at him, but something in his voice said he was just as nervous about their talk as she and he was trying to alleviate some of that stress. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she peeled off her sweater and toed off her ballet flats. She was wearing a sundress in light of the warm day, one that had thick tank top sleeves that buttoned in front just under each clavicle. It was a soft blue that almost matched the flecks in Malfoy’s eyes.

Though they had been abrupt and abrasive with one another for weeks now, Malfoy still watched her every move like a hawk stalking its prey. He was in the water up to his neck, dipping his mouth under to blow bubbles absently, but his eyes were trained on her. She unbuttoned the two large buttons on each strap and undid the zipper that ran along her side, stepping out of the dress to reveal a light blue tank top and white cotton boy shorts. She’d forgone a bra as the dress had enough support without it. Malfoy raised an eyebrow and Hermione blushed lightly, sauntering over to the edge of the water and testing the temperature with her foot. It wasn’t icy, but it certainly wasn’t bath water warm.

Hermione noticed the mischievous glint in his eye, absent over the last two weeks, entirely too late. Malfoy moved with the agility of a Seeker, capturing her round the waist before she had time to react. The water was cool enough to take her breath away and when she emerged, her teeth were chattering. Malfoy laughed jovially as she swatted his bare shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her middle, helping her stay afloat in the water and she placed her hands on either shoulder.  
“Now, you were saying…this is happening too fast?” he asked, his face growing serious.

Hermione felt instantly warmer as she realized they still had a conversation hanging over them. She looked into his eyes, searching her face in earnest. The hurt was still swirling in the pewter grey, but his features were softening as he looked at her. She ran a finger down his jaw, lightly peppered with soft blond stubble. “It took me seven years to admit anything to Ron. And honestly, I never felt about Ron the way I feel about you. With him, it was a falling together of two friends, convenient and easy. With you…we’re so volatile sometimes…so reactive…but I want nothing more than to be with you. When you asked about America, it was a far off possibility that you were going. Now, you’re set to go and I couldn’t possibly stand to be without you for a year or more. It’s been hard without Harry, and I only consider him a brother. But it scared me because I actually could see myself leaving with you…moving to another country, starting a life…settling down. It just hit me exactly how close to leaving Hogwarts we really are…we’re going to be leading normal, adult lives and our childish dreams are becoming realities. And I freaked out.”

Malfoy pushed her sopping curls away from her face and placed a hand at the nape of her neck to pull her in for a kiss. His lips were cool from being under the water, a stark contrast to the heat of his tongue as he slid it along the seam of her lips. He wrapped an arm tightly around her waist, pressing her to himself and she curved her legs around his waist. He was just tall enough to stand straight and keep his head and neck above the water’s surface.

Every thought seemed to fade as he kissed her in a fashion he hadn’t used to kiss her in weeks. She longed for his touch every day since Valentine’s Day and it was enough reassurance to her that he was kissing her now. She hadn’t ruined everything.

He brought his hand down and gripped her hip tightly, a soft growl at the back of his throat. When he broke, he was every bit as out of breath as she and he pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes still closed, his nose skimming hers lovingly. “Gods, Hermione. I love you, you silly witch.”

Her heart stopped beating all together for a moment before it began an erratic pitter-patter. Had she heard him right? She must’ve. His voice was ringing in her ears, a mantra playing in her head. He was wrapping her tightly in his arms, placing kisses along her bare neck and shoulders and she knew he was waiting for a response by the tightening of his shoulders. She knew he expected rejection. “I love you, too, Draco. That’s…what I’ve been trying to say. It scares me how quickly I fell in love with you.”

“Properly?” he asked, his voice low.

He drew his head back to look at her as she responded. She nodded slowly. “Properly.”

Draco’s face searched hers for a moment for any lingering doubt and upon finding none, he smiled a bashful handsome smile. “You,” kiss, “silly,” kiss, “witch.” Kiss. “This whole time, I thought you weren’t trusting me and you were trusting me ‘too much.’ Do you know what this has done to my psyche? I have driven myself crazy with self-derision and anger!” his words were serious but his tone was playful.

Hermione put a finger over his lips to silence him and his smile fell slightly. “I’m sorry, Draco. For everything.”

She withdrew her finger and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck in a tight embrace. “I have a theory,” he said, his voice rumbling through her chest as she pressed against his.

“What’s that?” she asked, kissing his shoulder.  
“Have you ever heard of twin flames?” he asked, pulling back once more to look at her.

Hermione wracked her brain. She couldn’t ever remember hearing of a ‘twin flame’ theory in any of her texts. She furrowed her brow as she shook her head slowly, uncertainly. He brought a finger between her brows and pressed the wrinkle out, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“A twin flame is a theory that suggests that we each have a ‘twin’ in this world. Not physically, but mentally and spiritually. They are mirror images of ourselves, reflecting every strength and, conversely, every weakness back to us. Twin flames are sent to us to mold us into the best versions of ourselves—they force the change within us. Twin flame relationships usually start out rough—a lot of tumultuous pushing and pulling. But once both people have surrendered to it, a strong unconditional love emerges. Just as a twin is your mirror, though, it’s also your discarded side reflected back to you. I am Dark and you are Light, but together, we bring out the Dark and Light in each other. A twin will push you, provoke you, but love you like no other ever has or ever will again.”

Hermione stared at him in wonder and dumbstruck awe. “And you think that’s us?”

He looked at her sincerely. “Don’t you? Think about it. Think of all the changes we’ve both gone through since the Fates brought us together in July. Think of the way we push and pull one another, the hatred that led into fierce love.”  
Hermione thought about what he said. He was right of course. They’d both changed since returning to Hogwarts and it was all for the better. “Where did you learn that?” she asked him, smiling at the thought.

“My mother told me that story when I was a child. She believed my father was her twin flame,” he said, a sadness in his voice at the thought. “The theory goes that you may not find your twin in this life, but perhaps in another incarnation. I honestly believe we’ve gotten lucky enough to experience it in this life.”

Hermione captured his lips the second he was done speaking, her heart overflowing with the fluttering sensation she now recognized as love for the man in her arms. Suddenly she wanted him, all of him. She had no doubt in her mind, her fears calmed. He shared the sentiment. He deepened the kiss, running his hands under the tank top’s hem, over the swell of her rear, down her thigh to where her knee bent around to wrap his waist. The cool water rippled around them as they moved, the sensation tickling Hermione. Draco pulled his lips away and tried to look down between them, the water only transparent enough to see their shoulders. “Granger?” his voice was barely above a whisper, husky and questioning.  
She knew what he was trying to ask and she whispered a “Yes,” before bringing him in for another kiss, fervent and desiring. He slid his hand back up from her knee and up her leg around the top and ran his thumb along the inside of her thigh, brushing along the cotton panties she wore. He let out a groan and began wading toward the shore.

He summoned his shirt and wandlessly and wordlessly transfigured it into a large blanket as he walked, never breaking the contact of their lips. When he got to the sandy shore of the lake, the ends of the blanket dipping into the water, he gently lay Hermione back on the soft material. He was careful to hold his weight above her, settling his legs between hers. The water lazily lapped at their feet as Hermione brought one foot up to tease the bare skin of his calf.

Their fervent heated passion slowed at Draco’s command, both wanting to savor every moment of what was transpiring between them. He leaned up on his knees, placing both hands on her legs at the crux where the front of her thighs met her hips, his thumbs going up under the front of her underwear. He was looking down at her with his lips slightly parted, his eyes alight with a fire she rarely saw. He dragged his vision down from the flush in her cheeks and along the length of her neck and he took a moment to appreciate the taut pebbling of her breasts under the thin cornflower colored tank top that clung to her.

He ran his hands under the hem of her shirt and dragged them, ever slowly, up her sides, pulling the shirt over her with the hook of his thumbs. She leaned up to allow it to be pulled from her form and she heard it slap wetly against the rocks that lined the lakeshore on one side. Draco leaned down and used his own body to push her gently back into the blanket, nuzzling her neck and peppering kisses at the hollow behind her ear. The roughness of his stubble caused gooseflesh to rise over her skin, every inch of her growing taut, her senses heightening.

He held himself up with one forearm and used his other hand to massage her breast, running a caressing thumb over the rosy, pebbled flesh. Draco brought his face from her neck and glanced down between them, wanting to see as much of her as he could while still maintaining contact between their two fiery bodies. He put his forehead between her breasts, his breath tickling her abdomen. “I love you, Hermione. I love you.”

His voice was soft between them and he bent down to place kisses where his breath had ghosted moments before. Hermione ran her hands under his underwear and over the muscled flesh of his arse, pulling his underwear down as she did. He took the hint and pulled it off of his legs swiftly, tossing it to join her discarded shirt. Draco lifted up on his knees once more, asking her one last time with a look if she was sure and Hermione gave one subtle nod as she lifted her hand to cup his cheek. He toyed with the top of her underwear for a moment, hesitating only briefly before he began to slide it down her legs, which she bent to allow its removal.

Once she was completely bare, Draco took a moment to gaze over her naked form admiringly, lovingly. “You are absolutely gorgeous, Granger,” he rasped, his hands running up her thighs bracketing his hips.

Hermione felt a blush creep over her chest and neck, her cheeks burning with the feel of it. As he leaned over her to kiss her once more, the water droplets fell from his bare chest and arms, splashing onto her sensually, almost maddeningly. Draco brought a hand between their pressed bodies to soothe the throbbing ache that had started in her core and spread south. His fingers were that of a skilled musician, playing an instrument with care and deft ability.

She let out a feminine mewl and he growled at the back of his throat in response, biting her bottom lip, his hand between them never ceasing its sinful ministrations. He pulled away as his fingers quickened their pace, leaning on one outstretched arm as he watched her reactions to his touch. He took in the slight part of her lips as her breath fell between it in pants. Her skin was flushed, not with embarrassment any longer, but with wanton desire. Her body was quaking at the sensations coursing through her. She could hear Draco’s low voice whispering to her, telling her over and over again how beautiful she looked aglow with lust and desire for him, beckoning her to slip into pleasurable bliss.

The feel of his skilled hand playing her, the water still cascading from his wet hair and shoulders, the low rumble of his voice in her ears, the smell of fresh grass around them and the spearmint washing over her as he breathed, the sight of his attentive face watching her with apparent want and the feel of his body, hard against her soft. It all made her shake, her control slipping. She clenched her eyes as she let the waves overtake her, letting out the most provocative moan she’d ever made in her life.

Draco smiled down at her, her legs quaking on either side of him, her body arching into his as her fingernails dug into his biceps. Her entire body was ablaze with feelings she had never experienced with another human being and he drank in the sight of it like a man thirsty for water after a long drought. “Open your eyes, love,” he commanded gently, placing a sweet kiss at the corner of one, and she complied.

He saw the spark of fire, her chocolate eyes now the color of strong coffee, the flecks of gold alight with passion. He watched her collapse back in satisfaction and leaned down to capture her lips with his own, moving to poise himself between her lightly shaking legs. Ever perceptive and keenly watching, he looked down between them as he ran his hands down her neck, over her chest to rest briefly beneath the swell of her breasts. His thumbs teased the underside of the soft swells before he brought them down her hips and under her, lifting her hips toward his own. Draco bent down for a moment and she heard him whisper a wandless contraceptive charm before kissing her stomach with one fluttering flicker of his lips.  
Hermione saw him watch as he pressed against her, biting his lip in the sexiest manner she’d ever seen. She could see that he wasn’t breathing, and after that single moment’s hesitation, he thrust forward once, taking her swiftly and fully. He stilled for a moment to allow her to adjust, knowing it had been months since her last sexual encounter. Draco looked up from where their bodies were connected and up to her face once more.

He watched her reaction as he slowly withdrew, almost completely and then pressed into her once more. He began a sinuous, slow rhythm, his fingers pressing into her supple flesh as he gently pulled her hips to meet his own. Hermione gave into him, moving to meet him in a way that only their two bodies could. She marveled at the flush that rose over his pale flesh, suddenly rosy and full of life. He was still biting his lip and his breath was growing more and more ragged with every movement the two of them met.

Draco’s eyes were becoming hooded and glazed over with desire as he let his lip go and stared down at her, his mouth open and his own breath coming out in sharp pants. “Fuck, Granger. Fuck,” he swore under his breath, dragging one hand over her left breast.

He gave it a hard squeeze, his control slipping, before bringing his hand between them and placing it on her once more. Still sensitive from her last experience, little aftershocks wracked her body for a few moments, her hips bucking sharply with each one. Draco let out a low groan as her nails scraped down the skin of his shoulder and arms. She leaned forward, a useless attempt at kissing him, as she couldn’t get her mouth to do more than expel harsh breaths of air and quick moans. Their kissing was little more than the knocking of lips together, both fully out of breath. “Granger…stop being stubborn,” he whispered, his hair tickling her face as he looked down between their bodies.

His movements quickened as she laughed lightly and tried not to lose her concentration on the sensations that were gripping her. “Let go, love. Please,” he whispered through clenched teeth, his ability to hold on taking every ounce of control in his being.

Just hearing the words set off something in Hermione and she complied with ease, slipping into her second Little Death. Feeling her legs clench his sides, her heels hooked behind his back to press him further, hearing the soft, feminine noises erupting from within her as she gripped him tightly, as though he might float away if she unclenched her fingers from his arms. It was too much for Draco and he found his own release, his eyes closed and bottom lip back between his teeth. Hermione had never seen something so magnificent as Draco Malfoy looked in that moment, flush with sexual bliss and face clenched with the sensations pulsating through him.

When his body finally stopped shaking he opened his eyes and looked down at her. It was her turn to smile at him bashfully, bringing her hand up to brush his hair away from his forehead, slick with sweat now. He gave her a handsome, genuine smile and stared down at her in their post-coital bliss, their heartbeats returning to normal slowly and steadily.

Draco couldn’t bring himself to say something snarky, not wanting to ruin the moment that had just passed. Instead he leaned down to give her a gentle kiss, a brush of lips on lips before he set her hips down and pulled away from her. Hermione ran her fingertips over his skin, down the purple and pink scars that marred his otherwise perfect flesh. If she hadn’t been sure of her love for him before, she certainly was now. Sex with Ron had never been that raw with unbridled passion, never that satisfying, never that intense. Their sex had been lazy and uncertain. Draco was sure of himself, every movement on her body concise and calculated, just as he was. Their two bodies moved in sync with one another, as though they were made to fit only one another in such a way.

He lay next to her on the blanket, his feet rejoining hers in the gently lapping waves. He angled toward her, resting his head on her chest to listen to her heart, one arm draped over her, intertwining his leg with hers. Hermione played lazily with the hair at the nape of his neck and enjoyed the feel of his manly stubble against her sensitive skin. Draco would occasionally brush his lips against her skin, a satisfyingly spent hum at the back of his throat. “I love you, too,” Hermione whispered and she felt his hand clench her side for a brief second, an acknowledgment of her statement.

Hermione knew there was no taking back what they had just experienced, and she knew she wouldn’t even if she could. She had thought just hours ago that things moved too quickly and it scared her. But now, with their declaration of mutual love hanging between them, she couldn’t imagine any other way. She wanted the life with Draco that he offered her, nervous as she was to leave the only home she knew. Hermione wanted to wake next to him every morning, wanted to bear curly towheaded children, wanted to make love to him any time she wanted, wanted to ensure his new creature sanctuary was successful.

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks and she exhaled slowly, causing Draco to lean up and look down at her, an eyebrow raised. “What’s the matter?” he cooed, nuzzling his face into her neck, skimming his nose along her skin, placing a lazy kiss every so often.

She pushed him away gently so she could sit upright and he gave her a concerned look. Hermione smiled at him and he gave her an uncertain smile back, his brow furrowing. “I want it all. Everything,” she told him.

Draco’s eyes searched hers and she moved to kneel on her knees. He followed her lead and sat with his legs outstretched on either side of her. “I’ll give you anything you want, Hermione. You need only say the word and I will do everything I can to give you anything your heart desires,” he said, holding his arms apart so she could embrace him. “I’m a total prat, but I’ll love you fiercely, Granger. I can promise you that.”

Hermione felt tears spring, warm and wet in her eyelashes. She was unsure of why she was crying, blaming the full feeling in her heart. He felt the warmth of her tears in the bend where his neck swept into his shoulder and he wrapped his arms tightly around her, protectively and certainly. To think, she’d almost given this up. Falling properly in love with Draco Malfoy.

o-o-o


	14. Chapter 30

o-Draco-o

The Cruciatus Calming Draught was ready to present to Neville midway through April. Draco had poured its contents into three separate apothecary jars, standing about six inches high and five inches wide, and sealed them with cork stoppers. It was a huge supply of the potion, enough to last a couple of months between both Alice and Frank Longbottom.

Draco slid each jar into an emerald velvet bag and put each bag into a plain white box. It was a gift, a small token of Draco’s apologies toward the clumsy, forgetful Gryffindor for the years of torment he put him through. Draco did not want Neville to feel uncomfortable upon receiving it, so he simply left it on Neville’s bed after he’d gone down to breakfast with Luna. The CCD helped Draco’s symptoms, sure, but he was eager to see the effects it would have on someone else who’d suffered to the point of insanity.

He went down to join Hermione at the Wulfric table for breakfast, craving real food and not just the toast they’d been eating as an afterthought, entirely too pleasant mornings tangled up in Draco’s sheets causing them to run later than normal. Professor Binns had asked Hermione to teach History of Magic today, as each of their teachers had given them a day to teach their respective classes. He would be teaching double Potions that afternoon.

He had listened to her lecture on the medieval burning of witches thrice the evening before, offering her helpful insight on what she could change and what was already fantastic. He knew she was nervous and as he joined her at the table with a quick peck on the forehead—McGonagall raising an eyebrow as she did every morning—she was pushing cold porridge around her bowl.

Draco took the spoon from her and tapped it against the dish, reheating the food wandlessly. He reached over and retrieved a plate, placing a couple of strawberries, two slices of bacon and a scoop of eggs onto it before he set it in front of her. “Eat, Granger. You need your strength.”

She looked up at him and pursed her lips, not caring for his telling her what to do. “I’ve been calling you by your given name since that day. When are you going to stop calling me Granger?” her voice was agitated as she poked at the food he set in front of her.

“When you let me make you a Malfoy,” he replied, shoveling eggs and sausages onto his plate.

Hermione’s fork clattered to her plate as she nearly choked on the bite of strawberry she’d just taken. Draco realized the implications of what he had said and looked up at her, gauging her reaction. “Is that your idea of a proposal?” she asked, sputtering over her words.

He wrinkled his brow. “Not exactly…”

“Good,” she nodded slowly. “Good.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why…would you accept?” he challenged.

Hermione stared at him, her mouth agape. “You can’t be serious,” she whispered.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Relax, Granger. When the time is right, I’ll let you know.”

She expelled a breath as she turned back to her food, her face returning to its normal pallor. “I can’t even pretend to eat this. I am so bloody nervous,” she muttered.

“Where’s all that Gryffindor bravery?” he teased, placing a hand on her thigh, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “You were all lioness this morning…”

Hermione nudged him away with her shoulder as he laughed merrily. “You’ll be brilliant,” he told her. “But we do need to get going. I need to get a good seat, seeing as I’m going to be playing the role of teacher’s pet, and you need to prepare for your class.”

With that, Draco rose from the table and helped Hermione up, their discarded food vanishing as they left. Blaise and Theo fell in step with them and Theo threw an arm around Hermione. “Oh most beautifulest witch in the whole wide world, do try to be a tad more enthralling that old Professor Binns. And please give me detention for my misbehaviors…if I have to spend one more evening watching Longbottom woo Lovegood, I’m going to vomit. I’d much rather spit shine the cauldrons.”

Hermione groaned and Draco squeezed her hand. “Hands off my witch, Nott, or you shall withdraw a nub.”

Theo laughed heartily and withdrew his arm, Draco grinning. There was no way the three Slytherins were going to make this easy for Hermione. Draco knew she was anxious, but he couldn’t let her get by that easily—she would feel more at ease as he challenged her and she countered him.

They reached the History of magic classroom and all three Slytherins saddled right up to the very first table, leaving an empty seat next to Theo, Draco in the middle. Hermione narrowed her eyes at the three of them and they all gave her a pleasantly innocent look. Too innocent. Draco smirked to let her know her suspicions were probably true and she glared at the three of them. “Behave yourselves,” she threatened.

“Yes, Professor,” Blaise said, crossing his fingers on the desk, the picture of boyhood innocence.

“We wouldn’t dream of causing you any troubles, would we, Nott?” Draco asked, his voice calm and cheerful.

“I’m trying to get in good with the Professor. I hear she uses corporal punishment,” Theo replied, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“In that case, I retract my earlier assertion. I am going to cause you all the troubles,” Draco replied, straightening his back and pulling his History of Magic textbook from his bag.

He retrieved a roll of parchment from his bag and took extra care to smooth it with his palms against the desk, humming pleasantly. Hermione was glaring at him as he pulled out an inkpot and quill from, smiling as though he were ignorant to her menacing glare. He slowly laid out his items and hung his bag on the back of his chair before he turned around and dipped the end of his quill into the ink. He made a show of carefully writing the date and his name in the top right hand corner in his perfect script and then he looked up at Hermione, blinking innocently.

About this time, other students began arriving. First among the Gryffindors was Ginny Weasley. “Weasley, I saved you a seat here next to me,” Theo called, patting the chair next to him.

Ginny crossed to him, eyeing Hermione, who was pushing curls behind her ears and smoothing her uniform and robes needlessly, and the three boys sitting in the first row. Her face broke into a grin and she sat next to Theo, who exchanged a look with her. “Ah, Professor Granger, do you think I could be excused? I have a dreadful case of the ‘I don’t give a shit’s,” Ginny said, smiling at her friend.

“The four of you better not make this difficult for me, or so help me,” Hermione threatened one last time.

Hermione flushed and turned her head when she heard Draco snigger. He was going to enjoy this much too immensely and he would pay dearly later. When the bell chimed the beginning of class, Hermione walked to the board, and Draco could see her hand was shaking as she wrote Medieval Treatment of the Magical Kind. Though he had every intention of toying with her, he knew her lesson was solid and well put together and he felt a surge of pride wash over him as she addressed the class, her voice much sturdier than he knew her nerves to be.

“Good Morning, everyone,” her voice rang clear into the silent classroom.

A few people grumbled a ‘morning’ back, but the four students in the first row all chimed in unison, “Good Morning, Professor Granger!”

Her eyes darted to them and she tried to shoot daggers at each of them while still maintaining a falsely cheerful smile. “Today, we are going to discuss the treatment of witches and wizards in the Medieval period. I know Professor Binns has gone over history from before and after this time, but I feel as though this may appear on our N.E.W.T.‘s in little over a month and a half.”

A few people scoffed—Hermione believed everything would appear on a test, drinking down as much knowledge about everything as she could. Draco’s smirk fell as her smile faltered for a moment at the scoffing and he shot the offending Gryffindors a death glare. Hermione gave him a grateful look when he nodded for her to continue. Only the four of them were allowed to razz his witch.

“Well…let’s get started then, shall we?” she asked, wringing her hands nervously.

“Excuse me, Professor,” Theo said, raising his hand politely. “I was just wondering if it was true that they burned old spinsters and virgins at the stake—afraid that their lack of a suitor meant they were witches?”

Draco snorted a laugh and Hermione’s face pinkened. “Why, yes, Mr. Nott. That was true. But there were so many other offenses that could land you tied to a stake in the town common. Let’s go over some of the offenses—”

“Excuse me, Professor Granger,” Draco raised his hand, “Can you explain to me how exactly they checked the virginity of the offending young lass?”

Hermione shot him a look that would have normally silenced him, but only made his smug smirk deepen. There were a few laughs around the classroom and she was turning a violent shade of vermilion. “I think that is hardly the point of this lesson.”

“I think it’s a very valid question,” Ginny chimed in, crossing her leg over her knee daintily. “Professor.”

“I suppose they would have had a respected female in the community perform a routine checkup on the offender,” Hermione asserted.

“What exactly were they looking for?” Blaise asked, feigning ignorance as though he hadn’t slept with half the witches in seventh year.

Hermione rubbed her temples. “We are getting way off subject. Now, if we could refocus our attention on the so-called offenses that could have landed you in the bindings of a stake.”

“Bindings, eh?” Theo asked. “And what, pray tell, were the names of the knots they used…for research purposes, of course.”

Draco laughed as Hermione’s hair began to frizz out at the sides of her head, ready to smack the shit out of all four of them. “How about we discuss all the ways in which I could bind you and send hex after hex straight into your smug face?” she leaned down, her hands on the desk in front of Nott.

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Malfoy, I believe your witch is coming onto me,” he commented and Ginny laughed merrily.

She stood with an anguished groan. They continued to razz her up one side and down the othe—“What kind of wood did they use to light the fire?” and “How long does a stake burning take from start to finish, asking for a friend,”—her actual teaching taking up only half the total period. Everyone else left, Theo and Blaise bowing deeply in front of her as they laughed and Ginny curtsied. Hermione looked furiously agitated as she pointed her wand at all of them in turn. “You better get out of my face before I hex all of you!”

Draco hung back and she rounded on him after all the others had left. “What was that?” she asked, packing her bag with a ferocity that made Draco yearn to rip her clothes off.

“You needed to relax. It was a little harmless pranking,” he said, coming up behind her and leaning into her back, his hand on the desk in front of her, pressing her into the desk’s edge.

He brushed her frizzed hair over one shoulder and nibbled her ear. “Are you mad at me?” he whispered playfully.

She huffed, all of her irritation melting away the longer his searing tongue played over her skin. “Furious,” she deadpanned.

He laughed and pulled away from her, taking her bag and slinging it over his before grabbing her hand. “You could always get me back later. I’m teaching Potions today.”

Hermione looked up at him. “What? You never told me which day! We never even prepared for your class!”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Granger, I know what I’m doing. We’re brewing a Cheer-Up Potion. I may not utilize a Cheer-Up Potion—I’m much more at home being deliciously angsty—but that’s child’s play compared to our CCD.”

For their free period, the couple went and sat under the bleachers of the Quidditch pitch. Hermione wanted to read up on the potion they’d be working on that afternoon, but Draco stopped her from retrieving the book from her bag. “No worries, Granger. If you fail, I can offer you some extra credit,” he told her with a smirk.

Hermione laughed and swatted him as she lay back in the grass and stared up at the sky through the cracks in the bleachers. Draco lay on his side next to her, his head propped up on his bent arm. He looked down at her as he twirled a curl between his fingers. “You know I will marry you one day, right? You will be my wife.”

His witch turned her face and smiled up at him, lifting a hand to cup his cheek. He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Of course.”

“I didn’t mean to spout a half-assed proposal this morning, Granger. I just want to wait until the perfect time to propose. I need to speak to your father first, of course,” he mentioned, straightening the knot in her school tie as he spoke.

“If you get that opportunity,” she said sadly.

“When I get that opportunity,” he replied, running a finger between her eyebrows and pinching the tip of her nose. “Let’s get through N.E.W.T.‘s and graduation and then we’ll head to Australia. One stressful event at a time.”

Hermione groaned. “I still need to prepare my speech for graduation.”

“What, that’s not done yet? I figured you would have had that written in September!” Draco feigned shock.

“Well, if you would stop distracting me at every turn, I could get a lot more done!” she poked his chest as she spoke.

“Me? Distracting? I am no such thing,” he smirked.

Hermione gestured around them. “I’m sorry. Are we sitting in the shade of the bleachers or are we in our common room studying for the N.E.W.T.‘s?”

Draco groaned. “All we do is study for the N.E.W.T.‘s. We both know everything we need to know; we’re going to ace these exams with flying colors. Studying is a formality at this point,” he said arrogantly.

“Studying is important,” she chided.

Draco scoffed and lay next to her, the blades of grass tickling his neck and bare forearms where his sleeves were rolled up. Spring was in full force and dragonflies were flitting around them, causing Hermione to smile and press her temple to his shoulder sweetly as they both looked up.

Draco listened to her breathing, watching as she pointed at a particularly fat dragonfly that landed on the toe of one of his shoes as he ran his thumb indolently over the soft skin on the back of her hand. “I’m going to miss this,” he whispered quietly.

Hermione hummed her question. “This,” Draco gestured. “Hogwarts. Refereeing Quidditch. The other eighth years. The ease of this year.”

“Me too. But we will make new memories and meet tons of new people when we move,” Hermione assured him.

“This will be the longest time I’ve ever been away from Theo and Blaise. That’s a strange feeling to me in and of itself,” he quipped.

Hermione clicked her tongue. “Well, I can certainly understand that sentiment.”

They were silent for a moment and then Draco sighed. “Well, we should get to the dungeons. I’ve got a Cheer-Up Potion to teach,” he said with a smirk.

o-Hermione-o

They arrived in the dungeons and Hermione noticed that Draco did not put his school robes back on and did not bother to roll his sleeves back down. The snake and lower jaw of the Dark Mark showed on his pale skin and she saw him peek at it and then clench his jaw and hold his head up in defiance. He was teaching the Slytherins today and he knew many of them were children of Death Eaters or Voldemort sympathizers, but he refused to cower in front of them.

Hermione watched as he set out all of the ingredients on Slughorn’s teaching station, his personal cauldron sitting in the center of the worn wood. She sat at her usual spot at the front table and, unlike him, did not make a show of her intentions. When the Slytherins began filing in, Draco leaned on the desk with his hands on either side of the cauldron, watching each student, daring them to comment on his arm.

Astoria wandered in and Hermione waved at her. “Astoria, darling, would you care to share my desk?” she asked the raven-haired beauty sweetly.

Astoria raised an eyebrow at her, but caught sight of Draco standing at the helm. The other eighth years made there way in and Theo let out a barking laugh. “Ah, Hermione will have her sweet justice,” he crooned, looking as though Christmas had come early.

Draco exchanged smirks with Blaise—he was seemingly unfazed. Hermione smiled at him, the picture of innocence, and she could tell he almost believed her saint-like façade. If she didn’t have that mischievous gold glint in her eye that gave her away. The bell chimed and he clasped his hands behind his back as he walked around the desk. His voice was deep and commanding as he spoke, the picture of confidence. “The Cheer-Up Potion is considered an important potion in the realm of mental health. All year, we’ve been through various first-aid and healing potions. Now, Slughorn asked me to teach you one for your mental health as well.”

Hermione watched him, her wizard, her man, as he moved around between desks, a couple of the Slytherins squirming uncomfortably at the sight of the Mark emblazoned on his skin, shown so brazenly. Draco was commanding attention and all eyes were trained on him, the only sound his shoes clicking against the stone floor. “The ingredients that go into this are simple, but the process is complex. You must count the seconds exactly. Stir exactly just as I tell you. The temperature in this room is going to have to be increased substantially and the light brought down until dim. I trust everyone here can create a flame to work by?”

There were a few murmurs and the cold, stony tone of his voice soothed Hermione, though she knew it probably made the others in the room alert and uneasy. He was strong and aristocratic and she was proud of him in that moment. “One person from each pair, go to the store cabinet and retrieve a bat spleen, roughly the size of a butterbean, two drops of acromantula venom, a dragonfly’s thorax—five centimeters in length, two quarts of salt water and two eyes of newt. Move quickly, we don’t have time to tarry.”

He pointed his wand at the ceiling and Hermione felt the room heat substantially. He gave her a half-smile and a wink as she sauntered to the back to retrieve the ingredients needed. She did so deftly and sat down before all others, removing her robe as sweat formed on her brow. Once everyone had conjured a flame inside of apothecary jars, Draco dimmed the lights. “Now. You want to quarter the bat spleen—four equal parts.”

Hermione’s hand shot into the air. “Professor Malfoy. Is it true that slicing it, just a fraction of a centimeter off, can cause the effects of a Cheer-Up potion to mimic that of a erectile dysfunction correction potion?”

The other heads in the room looked up, the boys looking a little too eager to hear his response. Theo was laughing jovially in the back of the class. “This is too rich,” he said, dabbing his eye.

“Hmm…Miss Granger. Too right you are,” he replied, his cheeks pinkening.

“And just one dose can cause an erection that lasts hours?” Astoria joined in.

Neville turned pink behind them. Draco smiled politely. “Yes, that’s right,” he said through clenched teeth. “So please, take extra care to slice everything exactly the right way.”

Hermione smirked smugly and set to slicing their bat spleen into four parts. “Place each quarter into the salt water exactly sixteen seconds apart, stirring three times clockwise, two times counterclockwise as you count seconds,” Draco continued.

She couldn’t bring herself to tease him any longer, both because she had to count now and because the throaty rumble of his voice commanded her attention. She had embarrassed him sufficiently enough and now she was able to admire him, his academic abilities intriguing her as he could spout the instructions off, a textbook nowhere in his direct line of sight as he strolled through the classroom, his hands still clasped behind his back.

He walked near Hermione’s table and she could smell the distinctly Malfoy scent in the breeze that blew past her. She looked up at him and he gave her another wink, the light of her flame flickering across his features warmly. He strolled on and she watched him go until Astoria nudged her. “I know he’s delectable, but I’ve stirred and we’re ready to add the crushed dragonfly thorax now, so I need your attention,” she smirked.

Hermione’s cheeks burned as she turned back to their work. Finally, ten minutes before the class was to end, Draco raised the lights and chilled the air, the students breathing a sigh of relief as the coolness washed over them. “I have no doubt that after Miss Granger’s insertion at the start of class that some of you have purposely mis-sliced the bat spleens. As both potions glow a canary yellow and every cauldron in here looks identical, I have no way to tell who brewed as I suggested and who brewed with that helpful little tidbit in mind. As it were, collect a vial of it for each of you to keep. One way or another, its good for a few hours’ happiness.”

The class erupted in a twitter, the boys—ever the picture of maturity—all pounding their fists and Hermione rolled her eyes. Draco came to stand in front of where she sat, gathering her items. “Clever, Granger. But you realize we just gave a bunch of eighteen year olds an erection potion so strong, they’ll fuck a silk stocking if it looked at them the right way.”

She laughed outright at that and smirked. “I took it easy on you! You four were merciless against me earlier!”

He rolled his eyes but was grinning. “Why don’t we pour that whole cauldron’s worth into this jar here,” he said, handing her the jar that housed her flame. “I know you quartered the spleen improperly.”

She raised an eyebrow and he smirked. “Longbottom needs his next month’s supply and I have been a bit…ah…preoccupied as of late. Courting you is a full time job.”

o-o-o


	15. Chapter 31

o-Draco-o

Draco and Hermione were sitting in their Common Room, working on a practice N.E.W.T. for Charms when a soft knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” Draco called out, his voice loud after hours of companionable silence.

The pair turned to see a timid looking Neville step into the room. “I hope I’m not disturbing anything,” he said, relief evident on his face when he saw they were studying, “but I wanted to ask Draco if he would be willing to accompany me to St. Mungo’s tomorrow?”

Draco was taken aback. He’d made the CCD for Neville, but he never expected to be asked along on one of Neville’s trips. “Sure, if you’d like me to.”

Neville nodded. “You, too, Hermione. I know you helped him a lot.”

Hermione smiled sweetly. “Sure thing, Nev.”

Neville looked at the floor and cleared his throat. “I was hoping you could bring all of the notes you have on it,” he said bashfully. “I know you all will be leaving soon, and the Healers would like to know how to go about brewing it.”

Draco exchanged a look with Hermione. If the Healers wanted to know their secrets, that meant it was working. “They’ll give you full credit, of course,” Neville rushed out.

Draco nodded. “Good. We want full credit. And the proceeds of every vial sold to magical hospitals and private families, who may take care of their own, will transfer directly into a fund set up to benefit St. Mungo’s children’s ward. I will have papers prepared before we leave for America, and before we leave the information.”

Neville nodded once more and Hermione beamed at his charity. “Okay. We’ll leave through the floo in McGonagall’s office at noon tomorrow, if that’s okay?” Neville asked.

“That would be just fine, Longbottom,” Draco said kindly, but still clearly as a dismissal.

Neville left and Draco sighed. “We need to chart those Astronomical layouts to turn in with the project anyway. Why don’t we finish those tonight, then we can just duplicate everything we plan on handing in? I’ll take it to an attorney I trust in the Nott firm and have him draw up the rights to it all.”

Hermione smiled at him and it made his heart flutter to see the look she was giving him: one of pride and adoration. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, averting his eyes and looking down at the work in front of them.

He packed away everything they’d been working on and went to retrieve a blank Astronomy chart to begin recording the positioning of the moon and stars at difference phases of the brewing process. Hermione was working on duplicating the rolls of parchment with instructions she had taken meticulously as Draco spoke them aloud, drawings of different herbs and ingredients and a drawing that Draco had made of a faceless man receiving the Cruciatus Curse, which mophed slowly into the depictions of each symptom of the Curse.

It was tedious work and they worked late into the night, finishing the duplication of the completed Astronomical charts well after midnight. A sense of accomplishment rang through them and they collapsed into Draco’s bed, exhausted but pleased with their work. “You’re a good man, Draco Malfoy,” Hermione whispered as she cuddled into his chest.

And for the first time, he didn’t argue. He may not be Saint Potter, but he could feel the icy shell of his heart being slowly chipped away the longer he spent with the selfless, pure, innocent witch next to him.

o-Draco-o

Draco and Hermione met Neville the next day outside of Headmistress McGonagall’s office. When they stepped in, McGonagall smiled widely at the three and turned to Draco. She leaned in and said to him quietly, “Kingsley will be in touch to discuss the issue you inquired about.”

Draco nodded once and Hermione gave him a look. He shrugged. Though he was ashamed to admit it, since the proceedings in the court felt like a lifetime ago, he was still on probation and therefore had to register his wand and receive a trace and obtain permission to leave the United Kingdom. McGonagall had already vouched for him when it came to America, and he’d met with Kingsley at the Manor back in January to settle that matter, but he had only recently inquired about Australia.

Moving to America was for schooling purposes, even if Shacklebolt thought it odd he wanted to study a Muggle profession, but going to Australia was a different matter—he didn’t approve of Hermione’s use of an illegal spell on her parents and was hesitant to allow Draco to accompany her in her voyage to bring them back.

Neville went through the flames first, then Hermione, and as Draco was getting ready to step in, McGonagall grabbed his arm. “Mr. Malfoy, I just wanted to tell you that I think it’s a very noble thing you’ve done for Neville Longbottom. I know he appreciates it more than you can possibly understand.”

Draco nodded once and stepped into the floo. He wasn’t used to receiving praise from all of these former Gryffindors and it was making him uneasy. When he arrived on the other side, he stepped into a private room—one he’d approved the plans for when donating enough money for the Alice and Frank Longbottom Ward. He looked around the room quickly—sterile, as hospitals were—but pictures of Neville, the original Order, Longbottom’s parents and past relatives covered the walls. The two beds had hand-knitted blankets covering them instead of the basic white.

The rooms two occupants were both sitting in matching rocking chairs, looking worn and dazed. The woman—Alice Longbottom—looked at him and involuntarily shivered. “A Malfoy,” she said under her breath.

“Yes, mum. A Malfoy. But he is not cut from the same cloth as his father,” Neville said, kneeling next to his mother.

Kicking into his usual charming aristocratic persona, Draco strode forward. His mind was scattered. Last he’d heard, the two parents were nearly zombies. “Ma’am, my name is Draco Malfoy. I…I made poor choices in my life, but I can assure you, I am a different man than my sire. I respect your son immensely.”

Alice looked up at him blankly. Neville frowned. “She still can’t say more than a few words at a time. And dad can’t say anything at all yet. But, Draco,” he looked up at the blond wizard, tears sparkling in his eyes, “they recognize me now.”

The power behind that statement hit Draco full force. All the time he’d spent over the last three years trying not to be recognized…Longbottom had a lifetime of wishing for the chance to be remembered. His parents had been nearly catatonic for the entirety of his life and Draco took a moment to appreciate how lonely the boy must have been with just his grandmother. He felt guilty, thinking of all the snide remarks, bullying and pranks he’d pulled on the toad-loving Gryffindor. “That’s…fantastic, Neville,” he replied, his voice cracking. “I’m glad the CCD helped in some way. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring them back completely.”

Neville stood to his full height, not much shorter than Draco, but stockier. He grabbed the Slytherin into a brotherly hug and clapped him on the back. “Being able to speak to them and have them recognize me…it’s more than you know. Not to mention, their night terrors are nearly gone and the tremors are only about once or twice a week.”

He released an uncomfortable Draco and wiped at his eyes, trying to put on a brave face. “Anyway. I wanted you to see what all of your hard work has done for my family. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

Draco shrugged. “You know the terms of releasing the information. Get the Healers to perfect it, get it spread to as many people as you can and donate all the proceeds to the children. Other than that, I want nothing in return. I was an incorrigible prick in my youth, but I hope this makes up for it.”

Neville nodded and turned to his parents. “It’s almost time for them to head down to the sitting room. Did you want to join us?”

Draco and Hermione politely accepted the offer, but Draco’s insides were wrenching. He had known the potion worked on those who hadn’t suffered severe, prolonged torture, but he felt a sense of unhappiness with the results it achieved in the Longbottoms. Had he hoped that they’d all ride out on the back of a unicorn, one happy family? No. Not exactly. But he had hoped that Neville would be able to carry conversations with them, fill them in on the life he led. Draco knew Neville was humble about his part in the War, but without him killing Nagini, Voldemort might still be living.

With that thought in mind, Draco pushed Frank Longbottom’s wheelchair to the hospital’s sitting room, a large room that looked much as their Common Room did. It was a place where patients could interact with others. He parked the wheelchair in front of a calming waterfall at one wall and stood awkwardly as the others sat amicably on the couch nearest the Longbottoms.

“Can they understand what is being said to them?” Draco whispered to Neville, bending down to speak into his ear.

Neville nodded with a wide smile. “They understand. The lack of communication comes in speaking. A few words here and there, but no substantial conversations yet.”

Draco nodded once. He took a deep breath and knelt on one knee between the Longbottoms. “Neville will never tell you what I’m about to—he’s too humble - but it’s important for you to know. Neville is a war hero. He killed Voldemort’s snake, Nagini. I can’t go into the backstory, there’s not enough time in the day to explain the complexity of why it was important Nagini be killed, but it was one of the most important tasks in the War. Your son slayed that snake like a total boss. If it wasn’t for his act of heroism that day, we might still be fighting the War. I spent my time on the wrong side of the War, almost until it was too late. But not Neville. Neville fought valiantly his entire life—stood up to friends to do what was right, fought to make sure the two of you weren’t forgotten, helped kill the Dark Lord. You both should be immensely proud of him,” he finished, keeping his sentiments brief, lest he get emotional.

The two parents looked at Draco and Alice looked up at Neville. “Nev,” her tiny voice rasped out.

“Mum,” Neville said, taking her hand.

Draco couldn’t take it anymore. The emotional weight bearing down on him was too much, he felt like he was suffocating. “I’m sorry, Longbottom. I need to get out of here…I need some air.”

He reached up and unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt, trying to get air to his fiery skin. Hermione looked at him, jumping from the couch to follow him from the room. “Draco! Draco! Stop walking so fast!”

Draco heard her pleas but he ignored them. He needed to get out of St. Mungo’s, away from the love flowing in the sitting room, away from the curious prying eyes and hushed whispers about how a Malfoy had shown up at the hospital with Granger. He needed air in his lungs.

He stepped out of the doors and into a bustling street in Muggle London. He looked back at the rundown department store that housed the magical hospital and saw Hermione emerging. “Granger. Go back in there with Neville. I just need to get away for a few minutes.”

He continued stalking through the streets of London, remotely familiar to him from their visit in December. Hermione trotted along to keep up and he clenched his jaw. “I thought I told you to go back?” he hissed.

“You should know by now that I’m not going to listen to anything you say. Now will you stop?” she asked, grabbing his arm forcefully.

He nearly stumbled at the force of her pull. He didn’t realize it but he was breathing heavily. “What is going on with you?” Hermione asked, cupping his face tenderly, running her thumb along his jaw.

He wrinkled his brow and looked away from her gaze. “I just can’t take it, Granger. All that work…all that time. And they’re still ruined. Neville just deserves so much more than that…he’s had a hard life, he deserves more and I couldn’t give him that. For an entire school year I’ve been developing this cure and I fell short.”

“You didn’t fall short, Draco. Don’t you understand that this cure has helped them so much? They can sit upright, she can speak some, they both understand speech. Their night terrors are gone, the seizures have almost completely subsided. It’ll only get better with time.”

Hermione leaned forward and pressed her lips to his in a chaste, comforting kiss. He frowned. “I just wanted them to be normal for him. To understand the magnitude of his role in the War. Everyone knows my name, knows what I am, what I did. But his own parents don’t know what he did. Even if they understood me, they don’t understand because they haven’t been around for seventeen years. They don’t know what the world was like, what the second war was like. Granger. I just wanted one goddamn day for him where they were lucid and understood.”

He could hear the near panicked anguish in his voice and realized he was crying only when Hermione reached up and wiped away his tears. She looked bewildered at his outburst, but tried to mask it with a comforting smile. “You are incredible,” she told him, pecking his lips. “Just because the potion didn’t give you the desired result doesn’t mean that Neville isn’t grateful and without a doubt happy with what has been achieved. This is more interaction with his parents than he’s had his entire life. He doesn’t have a single memory of them where they weren’t writhing in a hospital bed in pain and torment. But he’s able to make memories with them now. That means more to him than anything. He’ll be able to introduce Luna and eventually, their children. His parents will remember them.”

Draco leaned into her warm palm, covering her hand with his own on his cheek. He clenched his jaw. He knew Hermione was right, but he couldn’t swallow down the disappointment. “I can’t go back in there, Hermione.”

“Then we don’t have to,” she replied, dropping her hands from his face to take both of his hands in hers. “Why don’t we revisit one of our old haunts, huh? That little bistro by Tower Bridge? We can have lunch by the water.”

Draco nodded, his lip quivering but his tears stymied. “I am pathetic. Crying like a bloody Hufflepuff.”

“You’re allowed to have feelings, Malfoy,” Hermione reprimanded, using his surname to drive the point home.

They strolled in silence, the early May sun beating down on them, warming Draco’s chilled core. “When we leave Hogwarts, before we head to Australia, we have a week. Do you want to contact Gwen, see if we can experience that master suite she offered?” Hermione asked, taking in the sights and sounds of Muggle London.

Draco thought about the meeting he still needed to have with Shacklebolt. He’d give up his wand to the Minister if it meant he could go with Hermione. “Sure, I’d like that,” he told her.

They reached the bridge and Draco squeezed her hand. She smiled giddily. “This is where we first kissed…so much has happened since then,” she said, eyeing the way the sun sparkled along the peaks of water.

“Yes…but it’s all been good for a change,” he pointed out.

“I suspect I loved you…even before we came to London…I suspect I knew it when you offered to come with me, that day you couldn’t kill the grasshoppers. When you were leaning in front of me…I felt it then, I think,” she told him, the breeze gently blowing her hair.

“I did as well…before that even when I threatened Theo, not once but twice, to stay away from you,” he laughed.

She smacked his arm. “You didn’t!”

“You’re awfully handsy, woman. And I did…I was indescribably jealous,” he said, placing a hand on the small of her back and stepping in to trace her collarbone with his fingertip.

“How about we get some lunch? We’ve only got a short while before we need to floo back to McGonagall’s office,” Hermione said, grabbing his hand.

Draco shrugged. “I’m not very hungry. I think I just want some tea and biscuits,” he commented, the earlier despair he felt roiling dangerously for a brief second.

They both got warm tea in paper cups and a chocolate and cream filled croissant to eat and they brought their treats to the nearest table. The ice skating rink was long gone, but Draco stared in its direction, reliving the moment in his mind. He could scarce remember a time before Hermione Granger. Since July, she’d been at the forefront of his life, first as a nuisance, then a nasty reminder of his childhood crush, then as the girl he pined after like a schoolboy, now as the love of his life, his twin flame. He could kick himself for all of the years he’d wasted treating her like garbage.

He looked at her as she chattered on about her graduation speech, not really registering her words, but murmuring a “That’s great,” periodically. She was speaking so quickly and adamantly that she didn’t pay his inattention any mind. Draco took a moment to look at her in admiration. He loved her, everything about her. He never rushed through making love to her—she deserved to have a shrine erected in honor of her perfect body. He stared at her for long moments, watched her reactions to his movements, reveled in the way she took care of his needs with equal fervor, her beautiful hands on his body a sight for sore eyes.

But she was more than that. He studied her as she spoke and felt an overwhelming surge of love for her. She was beautiful—her hair, which he’d relentlessly picked on her about in childhood, was soft and curly and he loved the feel of it between his fingers, brushing against his bare skin. Her eyes were large, innocent, doe like, but full of fire and determination. Her skin was a perfect shade of pale bronze—growing steadily more bronze with every afternoon spent in the Herbology greenhouses and on the Quidditch pitch where she studied as he flew around. He marveled at the pretty little splash of freckles across her nose, one small speck on the tip of her nose; her lips were perfectly shaped and a titillating shade of rose. Her short petite stature was comically adorable, especially when she got riled up and started yelling at him, her little fists balled up next to her. Her figure was feminine and subtle, not outwardly ostentatious like Astoria, but a hidden treasure that only he had access to. He thought in that moment that he couldn’t wait to see how she’d slow while with child, her perfectly flat belly plump, cheeks pudgy, eyes misty with emotion.

More than her looks, she was kind, caring, fiery and bursting at the seams with selflessness. Hermione was a force to be reckoned with and she packed a punch in her little frame (both figuratively and literally, he remembered, touching his nose). She was brilliant beyond words and could easily rule the Wizarding world if she wanted. Her humor was much like his, dark and riddled with sarcasm and sweet laughs. And the best part? She loved him just as much.

She was still speaking and he was staring, his mouth slightly agape as he looked at her. He sprung forward and silenced her melodic voice with a passionate kiss. He loved her. Draco needed her more than air to breath or water to drink. She tasted of warm tea and chocolate and placed her hands on his knees as she leaned forward to return the kiss. When he pulled away, she opened her eyes and gave him a cheeky smile. “Wha-?”

He grinned back. “I love you. I am going to marry the fuck out of you, Hermione Granger. I cannot wait to get your father’s permission.”

o-o-o


	16. Chapter 32

o-Draco-o

“Love, you have got to calm down or you are going to make yourself sick,” Draco told Hermione as they made their way into the Great Hall for their first N.E.W.T.—Ancient Runes.

Hermione was close to hyperventilating and he was trying to rub soothing circles along her back. “You hunted Horcruxes and defeated the Dark Lord, for Merlin’s sake. Silly exams should be easy compared to that.”

“Adrenaline and the need to save the world fueled that. This is nerves like I felt before the War, like I’ve felt my entire life before an exam! What if I fail?” she shrieked, becoming close to hysterical.

“Then we still move to America, you still oversee the sanctuary, you still come back here and fight for elf rights. I literally see no downside to you not making top marks—you and I both know you’d never fail,” he reasoned.

She took two gulps as she sat down and he kissed the top of her head before he went to sit behind her, alphabetically placed five seats apart. He’d never used Legilimency or Occlumency on her, fearing more what he’d hear her thinking of him. But he stared at the back of her head and wordlessly cast a Legilimens. He was careful not to read her thoughts but tried to project comforting feelings and calming thoughts into her. He tried to convey the love and pride he felt for her, knowing she was the top student in the school. She straightened her back and peeked over her shoulder, giving him a small smile. He grinned back at her as their exams appeared on their desks.

o-Hermione-o

On the Sunday before their second week of exams, Hermione’s entire body ached and her head was congested so much that she felt as though she were going to suffocate every time she had to close her mouth to swallow. She was laying in bed, trying to concentrate on reading. Draco came into her room carrying a shallow bowl filled with water and a washcloth.

“I would love to say ‘I told you so’ but you are so pitiful, I can’t bring myself to be hateful,” he murmured to her, placing the bowl on her nightstand and sitting on the edge of her bed.

He pried the book from her hands and tossed it into the corner of the room, earning him a strangled cry of frustration from Hermione. “You are no longer allowed to study. You know the material, Granger. This incessant staying up until dawn and sleeping an hour before an exam has made you ill.”

“I have to study! What if I missed something?” she argued, sounding as though she were underwater.

“Hush,” he commanded, placing a hand on her chest to push her back into her pillows.

Hermione couldn’t imagine not studying in the days to come. They had three more exams to take and she just knew she’d missed some little tidbit of information that was bound to surface on one of them. It hadn’t happened on last week’s exams, sure, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t possible.

Draco rang the washcloth in the bowl and placed it on her forehead. She caught the smell of eucalyptus and tea tree oils—old Muggle remedies. “Where did you learn these old folk remedies?” she asked.

“My grandmother used to take care of me when I was sick as a child,” he replied. “I’ll give you a strong Pepper-Up and Dreamless Draught as well. You should be knocked out until tomorrow morning.”

He dabbed at her feverish face with the cool cloth and she could feel the ingredients seeping into her skin, breathing it in and clearing her sinuses. She wanted to further protest his taking away of her study materials, but she was too weak. He bent forward to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. “You’re so warm,” he said, dipping the cloth into the bowl and then draping it across her forehead and eyes.

He reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a small tub of rose-colored lotion. He retrieved some and rubbed it between his fingers before he pulled down the collar of her shirt and rubbed it into the bare skin of her chest. It had menthol and peppermint undertones and she felt the congestion in her chest breaking up immediately. Draco retrieved a fluffy pair of socks from her dresser and moved to the foot of the bed. He rubbed some of the peppermint lotion onto the soles of her feet and pulled the socks on before tucking the blanket under her legs.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed once more, folding the cloth over so it only covered her forehead and she could open her eyes.

Hermione groaned a response, her heart fluttering at the love she felt radiating off of him as he took care of her. “I’ll go down to the kitchens and bring up some broth and a few slices of bread for you. Then, you take the potions.”

She opened her mouth to protest once more and Draco put a hand up. “Then you take the potions.”

Hermione lay in her bed, cursing the light streaming through the window, but too weak to retrieve her wand to draw the shades and too tired to get her mind to do wandless magic. She began to drift in and out of consciousness and barely registered the sound of Draco reentering her room.

He set a warm bowl of chicken broth on her bedside and a few slices of warm, soft bread. “I know your throat feels like you swallowed a fireball…but I need you to drink this for me, love.”

Hermione groaned again and dragged herself into a sitting position. “If you eat this, I’ll bring you some of my chocolate gelato to soothe your throat,” he tried to entice her.

He conjured a straw and placed it into the broth and held the bowl to her lips. She swallowed it, despite the feeling of her throat being ripped to shreds. “The peppermint will help soothe your throat. Everything is pointing to dragon flu…but with any luck, it’ll be manageable by tomorrow. You’ve got Arithmancy to contend with, so you’re going to need your mental faculties,” he told her.

The straw made a slurping noise and he lowered it to the nightstand. “Good girl,” he whispered, kissing her forehead before he went into their kitchenette to retrieve the cold treat.

He sat on the edge of her bed and spooned small bites of gelato into her mouth as she cringed every time she swallowed. She finally put her hand up and stopped him as he tried to bring another bite to her lips. He shrugged and popped it into his own mouth. “Let’s get those potions into you and you’ll feel better in the morning,” he said.

Hermione marveled at him taking care of her. If her head weren’t swimming so badly, she’d reach up and kiss him. Instead, her eyes painfully turned to watch him draw her curtains and retrieve two vials from her dresser. “This one first,” he said, handing her the Pepper-Up.

It burned going down, one of the actual ingredients being pepper. She cried out with the searing in her throat. “I know, love. I know. One more,” he said, tipping the second, a Dreamless Draught, into her lips.

She immediately felt herself growing tired and suspected that he must have brewed a particularly potent sleeping potion just for her. The last thing she remembered was him kissing her forehead and each cheek before she heard her door click shut. Her tender-hearted Slytherin Prince.

o-Draco-o

Hermione was all but cured by the last day of classes two weeks later. She’d made it through all of her N.E.W.T.‘s and felt confident about her scores, though they wouldn’t learn them until July. Draco rolled his eyes—he’d been trying to tell her to calm down for months now.

The eighth years were planning to go to the lake to have a bonfire to end their time at Hogwarts and he watched as Theo, Blaise and Seamus shrank bottles upon bottles of both Muggle and Wizarding alcohol and stowed them in their now empty school bags. Luna and Hermione were working on nicking food from the kitchens to bring. Neville sat alongside Draco, watching their friends work. “Theo is putting me in touch with his father’s partner. I’ll have the papers for the CCD to you next week,” he said, and Neville nodded.

When the girls returned with bags of treats given to them by the House elves, Ginny was with them as well. “You coming, Weasley?” Theo asked, putting an arm around the feisty redhead.

“I couldn’t miss a party. And frankly, I like you lot more than the Gryffindors,” she laughed and they headed out.

They crossed into the magical wards surrounding the lake and Ginny gasped. “Whoa. This is definitely better than in the Gryffindor Common Room,” she said, taking in the sights around her.

Draco looked at Hermione and gave her a small smirk, fondly remembering their last experience at the lake. She blushed and took his hand. Theo noticed their furtive looks. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he said, his face wrinkled in mock disgust.

“What?” Ginny asked, raising an orange eyebrow.

“It seems we’ve stumbled into their little sex nest,” Theo groaned, setting his heavy bag down.

Hermione blushed and swatted him as everyone else laughed heartily. “Hmmm…maybe we could give them a little show…relive old memories,” Draco teased, nuzzling his nose into Hermione’s burning cheek.

Everyone else stopped laughing at that and Draco laughed at their speechless faces. Hermione moved away from him to conjure up some logs to sit on as Blaise gathered wood for kindling. Seamus blasted a deep groove into the sandy lakeshore to pack the kindling into and Blaise emptied his arms into it. Luna raised her arm and sent balls of light out over the water to illuminate the area below. “In case anyone wants to swim,” she said, shrugging.

After the area was all set, they passed glasses around, then bottles of some of the Greengrass’ finest firewhiskey, a gift from Daphne to Theo. The friends sat and reminisced for a long while, the girls’ shedding a few tears and the guys rehashing old memories of living in the dungeons and pranking Snape.

“I’m really going to miss this,” Luna remarked, watching Blaise and Seamus sparring bare knuckle at the water’s edge and Ginny hummed an agreement, taking a shot of firewhiskey like a professional.

Seamus landed a heavy blow to Blaise’s nose, who got knocked back into the water. He swiped his leg out and tripped Seamus, who fell back. Blaise wandlessly corrected his bleeding nose and held up a finger, spinning his hand in a circle as he said, “Again.”

Draco sipped his butterbeer laced with firewhiskey and watched his friends. He was going to miss this too. For more than eight years, this had been his home—these people had been his home. After they graduated tomorrow, everyone would split up. The thought of being parted from Theo brought a pang to his chest that he drowned with a swig of firewhiskey.

After getting knocked down a second time, Blaise corrected his swollen eye and dove into the water, fully clothed. Seamus ripped off his shirt and followed, splashing about idiotically. Theo took off his shirt and pants to reveal the smallest possible male bathing suit Draco had ever seen, his cheeks blazing as he ran toward the water. Draco laughed merrily at Theo’s vulgar swimwear as Hermione covered her eyes, barely breathing for laughing so hard.

Luna grabbed onto Neville’s arm and pulled him toward the water, already wearing some kind of strange bathing suit dress that only the blond could pull off. Neville went in fully dressed as Blaise had. Ginny peeled off her clothes to reveal a skimpy bikini that Draco was certain Potter would have disapproved of. “Whoa-ho-ho, look at Big Red!” Theo called.

“Avert your eyes or I’ll hex you blind!” she called back playfully.

Draco watched their friends in the water and Hermione leaned into him. “Shacklebolt is making me leave him my wand when we head to Australia,” Draco commented.

Hermione looked up at him. “Why?”

“It was either not go—not an option—or surrender my wand. I can have it back before I go to America, obviously,” Draco replied, watching as Ginny hopped onto Theo’s back and wrestled him into the water.

The moon and the strange balls of light glittered off the dark surface of the lake and Hermione sighed. “Well, at least you get to come with me. I couldn’t do it alone.”

“There’s something else we need to talk about,” he mentioned and Hermione sat up, looking at him with concern.

“What’s that?” she asked, biting her lip in anticipation of something bad.

“I know we’re heading to Australia next week. Classes at school begin August 5th. I need to get to New Orleans and find us a suitable place to live before all that…I don’t want to cut your visit with your parents short, so I’ll go ahead,” he said, his voice measured carefully.

“You want to split apart?” she whispered.

“It’ll only be a month or so…but you’ve been without your parents for so long…I couldn’t ask you to leave so soon,” he replied.

“Then we should make the most of the time we have now,” she leaned up to kiss his cheek.

He hummed in response. “You want to head back?” he asked, downing the rest of his butterbeer.

She nodded and sauntered over to the water’s edge, far enough away so that Theo couldn’t wrangle her into the water. “We’re going to head back,” she called.

Theo immediately looked their way. “Being in the sex nest got you all randy, eh?”

“Precisely,” Draco called back. “So unless you want us to shag right here by the fire, we should probably retire to our Common Room…and do have the decency to leave us be!”

Hermione looked mortified at the banter and Draco took her hand. As they walked back toward the castle, Draco cleared his throat. “I’m sorry that we’ll have to separate, but it won’t be for long, I promise. You come home to me in New Orleans when you’re ready to leave Australia…or England, depending on whether or not your parents come home right away.”

She looked down at the ground. “There’s an old Muggle cliché that states absence makes the heart grow fonder…I guess we’ll see if it’s true.”

They arrived back at the castle, still bustling as people prepared to leave the next day. “I’ll race you back to the room,” Hermione challenged and she took off running up the stairs.

Draco laughed and watched her for a moment before taking the stairs two at a time. He let her maintain the lead for a while, knowing his long legs could easily overtake her. When they were close to the tapestry of Merlin, he used his Seeker’s speed and grabbed her around the waist. She squealed and laughed as he tossed her over his shoulder, patting her rear as he stepped through the portrait hole. He carried her promptly to his room and slammed the door shut with his foot before dropping her onto the bed. She bounced into the comforter and mattress and before she had the chance to bounce a second time, he was on top of her, pinning her down.

Draco held Hermione’s hands up by her head as he straddled her hips. He leaned down and began to quickly kiss every inch of her face, from forehead to chin and back up. She scrunched her face and laughed at his crazy kisses, trying feebly to free her hands from his grasp.

When he finally came up they were both laughing and he released her arms, leaning back on her knees. He looked down at her, her face glowing gleefully. She looked picture perfect. “Granger…can I take some photos of you? So I have something to stare at while we’re apart?”

“You mean something you can wank to?” she teased.

He raised an eyebrow and a low growl of appreciation at the thought. “If you’d let me. I do love the sight of you in my bed.”

Hermione raised up on her elbows, her face falling slightly as she thought about what he was implying. “You…you want to take…provocative pictures of me?” she asked.

They’d had sex plenty since March, but this was something new and he could tell she was running over every scenario in her mind of the photos being found by someone other than he. “You are the most beautiful witch I have ever laid eyes on, Granger. I’d love to capture that on film, to gaze at for the rest of my life,” she shrugged.

He watched her throat as she swallowed hard, wanting nothing more than to suck on her sweet vanilla flesh. He looked back up at her and she was biting her lip. “For my eyes only. Trust me, Granger,” he said in a way that soothed like a lullaby.

She released her lip and nodded slowly. “Okay.”

He bent down to kiss the tip of her nose before he climbed off of her to retrieve his wizarding camera. “You have to let me take some of you, too, then,” she said quietly.

Draco thought about it a moment. It was only fair. “Okay,” he mimicked her response.

He returned to her and she was still in her elbows. “How, er—how shall we do this,” she asked uncertainly.

“I’ll give you instructions,” he said, holding up the camera and snapping a shot of her, biting her lip innocently. “Nothing too vulgar. I’ll keep it tasteful.”

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

Draco couldn’t believe his luck. He had a beautiful witch willing to do anything he asked, but he tried to keep it to things she’d be comfortable with. “Let’s take some in various states of undress. Sit on the edge of the bed and just simply pose daintily to start with.”

The photos fell from the bottom of the camera and Draco refused to look at any of them until they were done. “Okay, turn around and unzip the back of your dress,” he said, and he focused on the way her pretty freckles splashed across her bronzed back, flanked on either side by a bright white sundress.

The contrast of her skin to the dress was mesmerizing. She dropped it to her feet, but before she did, Draco got a shot of her arse in lacy underwear, her hands on either side of her hips grasping the top of the dress. “Take off the bra and lay back into my pillows,” he instructed and she followed orders like a teacher’s pet.

When she lay back against the pillows, her hair fanned around her in the most scintillating way. “Place one hand into your hair and the other on your breast and bite your lip again, facing the wall, eyes closed.”

A blush crept over her skin as she did what she was told. Draco could feel his own needs pulsating through his body achingly, but he had to get through taking these photos—the results would occupy his time alone in America. He leaned forward before he snapped this shot and spread the fingers on her breast and pressed her hand more firmly into her skin, just enough to show her nipple pinched between her fingers. Touching her sent jolts through his body and he had to bite his own lip to keep from mounting her like an animal.

His voice was more gravelly as he spoke again. “Pull your panties off, slowly. I want to be able to capture the motion of them leaving your arse and going to your knees.”

She did as she was told, her bright turquoise panties sliding over her tanned skin in a way that made him want to remove them with his teeth. Once they got to her knees he pulled them all the way off and climbed onto the bed, kneeing her thighs apart. He leaned into kiss her lips and muss her hair a bit, increasing the kiss and biting her lips to swell them. When he pulled back minutes later, she reopened her eyes and looked at him as though she were ready to jump him right then. He snapped a photo.

He leaned into her again, bringing his mouth to her neck. Draco sucked harshly, drawing blood to the surface. She moaned and thrust her hands into his hair, enjoying the mixture of pain and pleasure. He moved his mouth down Hermione’s neck toward her shoulder, leaving love bites in his stead.

When he pulled back, the places showed maroon against her skin and he took a photo of her marked up by him. The sight made him groan in frustrated anticipation. He leaned down and did the same along the top swell of one breast and she arched into him. He took a photo from the side of his mouth on her, her hands thrust into his hair.

Draco leaned back and gripped her hip roughly, his fingertips pressing into her supple flesh. He took a picture of his hand on her. He took a photo from his angle of her face, staring at him in lustful longing. He backed up, settling between her ankles and gently pried her thighs apart. Hermione tried to cover herself and he gently pulled her hand away, pressing it to her side so he could get a shot of her naked, unobscured. He released her hand. “Touch yourself,” he whispered throatily.

Hermione had never done that in his presence and she began to breathe much more rapidly. He took a picture of her chest rising and falling, knowing it would translate into a few breaths in the moving photograph. “I said, touch yourself,” he repeated, more firmly this time.

She bashfully brought her hand to herself and he captured a photo of her circular motions and flicks of her wrist. Draco thought he’d finish right then, seeing his witch lay hands on herself, his marks all over her flesh. It took every ounce of self-control to keep his body in check. He took a photo of the look of concentration on her face, her lip between her teeth, a flush rising across her cheeks.

He waited patiently, watching in fascination until she neared finish. He brought the camera up to capture the exact face she would make in that moment when the sexy little ‘o’ her mouth would form. When she did, he took three photos, the moment right before when she began to quake, the sweet little ‘o’, and the moment right after, when she looked up at him, partially embarrassed while riding out the waves.

“It’s your turn,” she told him, rising up and taking the camera from him.

Draco laughed heartily. “Hmmm…tell me what you want me to do, Miss Artiste.”

He was still fully clothed in a white button down and black slacks. She went to his wardrobe and retrieved an old Slytherin tie. “Put this on,” she instructed.

He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to put more clothing on…Ouch…” he teased, tying his tie with a quick expert precision.

“Okay, now take it off…slowly,” she told him and he couldn’t fight the smile tugging at his lips.

She enjoyed the sight of him removing a tie, eh? He was going to take his time from now on. She snapped multiple photos of the tie removal—as he loosened the knot, as he pulled the thin piece through to undo the knot, as he slid it one armed from around his neck. He sauntered over to her and draped the silky material around her neck.

“Unbutton your shirt,” she told him and he did as told as she captured the moment his chest first became visible and then as he removed it and it fell down his arms to the floor.

“Put your thumbs through the belt loops and tug a little…to expose more of your…hair…” she told him, biting her lip.

She took that photo and then had him lean back against the desk with his arms crossed first, then leaning back on his hands. She took more as he undid his belt and zipper. She captured the moment his pants fell from his waist.

Hermione instructed him to lay on the bed, much as she had, and put his arms behind his head. She settled between his knees to take the photo, capturing all the way to his thighs. She pulled his underwear off, taking a photo of her hand around the waistband as she pulled slowly.

He was watching her with a keen eye and she snapped a shot of his parted lips and dark grey eyes as he did. Hermione extended her hand and placed it around him, taking a photo of her skin against his. Draco inhaled sharply and closed his eyes as his hips lifted to meet her grasp. She took a picture of his movements and released him. He reopened his eyes, ready to ravish her if the look he was giving her was any indication. She took a picture of his face.

“Now you…touch yourself,” she commanded, blushing furiously.

Draco’s heart was pounding by this point and he felt what she must have when he’d asked her to do the same. It was a bashful apprehension. Touching one’s self was generally done in private, but now he had to show his techniques and vulnerabilities. “Malfoy,” she warned him sternly.

“So bossy,” he whispered, a shy half-smile on his lips as he brought his hand to himself.

“Just a few…I’m not finished with you,” she told him and he laughed.

She took a photo of his laughing face and of the movements of his hand, before she brought her hand to still his, snapping a shot of both of their hands on him before she had him release himself. Hermione set the camera down for a moment to reposition herself straddling him and lifted the camera and captured a shot of his face as they became one.

Draco looked up at the goddess before him, smiling sexily down at him as she moved and he took the camera from her to take a photo of her face, the way her hair cascaded over her shoulders and over the soft swell of her breasts, bouncing with her movements. He took one last photo of their connection and placed the camera beside them to fully enjoy his witch.

o-o-o


	17. Chapter 33

o-Hermione-o

Hermione and Draco stood in Draco’s now empty room, their trunks already awaiting them on the train home. “I can’t believe this is it,” Hermione said, her voice breaking as she wiped a tear from her eye.

Draco, for once, didn’t have a sarcastic or biting remark. This had been his home for the last eight years—even more so than Malfoy Manor. He was reluctant to leave as well, unsure of what the future would hold. Hogwarts was comfortable and certain and he knew once they walked out of those gates after graduation, their lives were going to change forever. Thrilling, but horrifying to both magical beings as they slowly made their way to the courtyard.

They were wearing robes of rich, royal purple—their last outward support of Wulfric House, and Hermione had a gold rope around her neck and a gold ribbon in her hair. She was the Summum Discipulus—the Supreme Student, and as such, she had a speech to deliver. She’d written it and read it to Draco fifteen times over the last three days and he’d reassured her that it was perfect.

There were fourty-seven chairs covered in silken cloth of the five Houses respective colors. Their names were hovering over their chairs and they went to their respective seating in alphabetical order, Neville and Luna separating the two in the Wulfric row. Neither Hermione’s nor Draco’s parents were in attendance, but she took comfort in the smile Molly Weasley sent her way. Draco made a point of ignoring the family seating altogether.

It was a warm June day and there was an excited buzz in the air as the seventh and eighth years prepared to graduate. Finally, at precisely noon, Headmistress McGonagall stepped into the center of the teacher’s line on stage, holding the Sorting Hat. She made a motion for everyone to rise and the Sorting Hat made a throat-clearing noise before it broke into a jovial rendition of the Hogwarts School Song.

Everyone in the graduating class and all of the parents joined in. Hermione was crying silently, as many of the students were. She leaned forward to look at Draco, who wasn’t singing but was staring stonily ahead. He caught her eye and gave her a sad smile. When the Song was finished, Headmistress McGonagall gave her speech. Hermione was so nervous that she barely registered that the older witch was speaking until she heard her own name.

“…if Miss Granger would come up to the front here. She’s got a speech prepared as well…Miss Granger…”

Hermione couldn’t make her feet move, a mixture of overwhelming emotion and nerves keeping her rooted to the spot. Draco leaned forward after a few awkward moments of her peers waiting for her to move. “Move your arse, love,” he whispered forcefully and a few Ravenclaws in front of them laughed.

Hermione looked over at him and he gave her an amused smile before she stood. The parchment in her hands shook and she cleared her throat. She glanced at the parents section briefly and could see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sitting alongside George and Charlie. She thought for a brief moment that she saw a fifth redhead but decided it was a trick of the sun.

She then took a moment to look at each student in front of her. McGonagall held her wand to the witch’s throat and magnified her voice. “It is an honor for me to stand before all of you today. Just a year ago, none of us knew if there would be a tomorrow, let alone a Hogwarts to come back to…” she avoided looking at George Weasley, knowing if she did she would weep for Fred.

“But, through the literal blood, sweat and tears of everyone sitting here, parents, students and teachers alike, we prevailed. The ancient clichéd story of good versus evil that we were forced to live came to a head and the light prevailed. I am so immensely proud of everyone here today. We all come from different walks of life—Muggle-borns, half-bloods and purebloods; rich, poor; academically inclined and…playful pranksters,” she eyed Theo and Seamus in turn.

“We came together at the end of last year and won a second chance at life and our education. I am forever grateful that Headmistress McGonagall allowed me to return to this school, to complete the education I missed out on. I have forged friendships here that will be impossible to sever,” she looked at Theo. “Friendships that came easily in the absence of war,” she looked at Luna and Neville, “and friendships that took more out of me emotionally than the fight against Voldemort did,” she laughed lightly and looked pointedly at Draco, who raised an eyebrow at her as a smile tugged at his lips.

“More importantly than even the friendships and bonds I’ve received here is the education I received. As a Muggle child, never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I was a witch—witches were only in fairy tales. Receiving my letter on my eleventh birthday changed my life for the better and there is not a single day I would go back and alter. Every day that each of us has experienced in the last seven or eight years have led us to this point. I hope each and every one of you leave here today with a purpose and fond memories of the place we’ve called home. I know that we can make this world a better place—we already have. Now, we need to prove that we’re more than just war survivors. We need to prove that we’re brilliant, valuable members of society. Let’s aim to make a difference in this world, to ensure that history never repeats itself! So, Class of 1999, let’s go forth and lead lives worth living. We’ve been given this second chance—let’s not waste it!”

Everyone stood and clapped and Theo shouted, “Yeah, let’s get shit done!” and McGonagall glared at him. He shrugged, smiling widely. Hermione made her way back to her seat and the Sorting Hat commanded silence once more. He called each student up in turn and they were presented with a large framed certificate that alternated between the certificate and a detailed sketch of Hogwarts.

Hermione got up to retrieve her framed certificate. She could hear Mrs. Weasley wailing, George and Charlie whooping and Theo wolf-whistling. Ginny was clapping the loudest and Draco remained measured as she smiled at him from the platform, her certificate in her hand. After Neville and Luna had walked, their former Houses and the other eighth years whooping for each, it was Draco’s turn.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy!” the Sorting Hat roared. “Formerly of Slytherin House, currently a founding member of Wulfric House!”

The entire courtyard was silent as he walked to the stage and the silence was deafening to Hermione. He looked at the ground as he walked. Suddenly, Theo burst forth and stood, clapping crazily. Blaise stood as well, and the other eighth years followed suit. They applauded him loudly, Theo pretending to sob like a proud mother (much like Molly Weasley had). Draco turned an attractive shade of pink as he took the certificate and half-smiled for the photographer.

Hermione was bouncing on her feet in excitement as McGonagall pointed her wand at her throat to amplify her voice. Draco tried to escape, but McGonagall grabbed his arm. “While I have Mr. Malfoy on stage, we need to take a moment to recognize him for the hard work he put in this year. He came from a background that many of us cannot understand, but he overcame his past and put the needs of others first. He created the Cruciatus Calming Draught to better assist those wounded in the War. He saw a friend in need and created a solution and he shall be recognized in this world for much more than his past. It was through his efforts last summer that we have this statue in the courtyard to memorialize the fallen. If we could all take a moment and applaud this fine young man on his efforts,” she finished, and the eighth years popped up once more.

Draco looked thoroughly embarrassed by the attention as he looked down at his feet. Hermione had never been more proud of an individual in her life, tears streaming from her eyes and she whistled. Theo was literally jumping up and down with emotion, repeatedly yelling, “That’s my brother!” and, after Ginny stood from her seat in the Gryffindor row, everyone else did as well.

Draco looked confounded at his standing ovation—Hermione knew he’d created the CCD and the memorial out of the kindness of his heart, but never expected a thank you or recognition. He was uncomfortable in the spotlight and when McGonagall finally released his shoulders, he scampered back to his seat, his face flushed.

Hermione reached her arm over Neville and Luna’s laps and he squeezed her hand briefly. Theo was called next and he stood, making a show of straightening his robes and smoothing out the creases. He skipped his way onto the stage and McGonagall gave him a pursed lip look, though the corner of her mouth twitched at him. The eighth years whooped and Hermione cat-called him. Draco stood and whistled loudly, too reserved to shout aloud, but showing his appreciation in his best friend in the animated clapping of his hands. Theo bowed deeply, his hat slipping off, and skipped back down the stairs to his seat. The two Slytherins did the same for Blaise as his family cheered from the stands.

Blaise was the last person to walk and McGonagall stood in the center of the platform once more. “On behalf of the staff here at Hogwarts, I just want to say how proud we all are of you. Go forth and—”

“Get. Shit. Done,” Theo called, cupping his mouth with his hands.

“Make us proud,” McGonagall finished with a smile.

The students stood and all tossed their black velvet hats into the air, the fabric raining down on them all. Hugs went around, tears, shouts and promises to stay in touch. Luna handed Hermione a gift bag after they broke apart. “You didn’t have to get me anything, Luna!” she said, wiping the tears from her face.

“You never let me teach you any of my techniques…I knew you’d prefer to read it,” she whispered and Hermione peeked into the bag and saw a book titled The Wizarding Art of Tantric Sex.

Her cheeks blushed and she hugged the blond once more. “Thanks, Luna,” she replied sheepishly.

“Page 38. You’ll thank me later,” the blond replied, giving her a wink before she turned to go and greet Neville and his grandmother.

Hermione found Draco standing alone while Theo and Blaise were talking to the Greengrass parents. He had removed his thick robes to reveal a white button down, navy blue slacks and a silver tie that brought out the swirls in his eyes. “Hey you,” he said, reaching out a hand for her to take. “How you holding up?”

Hermione shrugged, not trusting her voice. Ginny came up behind her, wrapping her arms around Hermione’s waist. “Let’s go find mum and dad before mum busts a gut,” she said, putting her arm around Hermione’s shoulders.

Hermione gave Draco an encouraging smile as he groaned and followed, holding Hermione’s other hand. “They won’t bite,” Ginny said.

“That one might,” came Blaise’s voice from behind them.

They all looked up to where he was pointing, and Theo and Ginny both exclaimed, “Oh, shit!”

There, standing behind where Mrs. Weasley was talking animatedly to Neville’s grandmother, was one horrified-looking, puce-faced Ronald Bilius Weasley.


End file.
